


Any Colour You Like - Volume One: First Standard Issue

by ExtremistComics



Series: Any Colour You Like [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Big Butt, Cyberpunk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Fucking Machines, Futanari, Other, Polyamory, Porn With Plot, Post-Coital Cuddling, Science Fiction, Trans Female Character, Vaginal Sex, Virtual Reality, casual nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 27,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28172427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExtremistComics/pseuds/ExtremistComics
Summary: Not as far in the future as you’d hope, Lucy lives in a massive arcology where the corporation that owns the building also owns everything, and essentially everyone, inside. Being a shy trans woman in a giant, homogenous corporate monolith where relationships are for the rich and futuristic distractions pacify the rest pushes Lucy to broaden her horizons. Here comes Kylie.
Series: Any Colour You Like [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2063838
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	1. Part 1

During the transit ride back to my apartment after work, I idly pull out my phone and check my messages. After several weeks just for the last stage of the process, I finally get the message from Orange Grove Human Services that my name has officially been changed to Lucy Cambianda, and my gender has been listed as female. I started my own end of this process years ago, but the bureaucracy at Orange Grove is sufficient that I never bothered doing the paperwork. It rarely came up. Even living in an arcology that houses half a million people, I have few enough interactions with strangers that I tend to forget there could even be people who don’t see me as I am. I haven’t had somebody give me that look in a long time, either because I’m “passing better” or because people have just legitimately grown more understanding. Despite all the obstacles that stood in my way getting my official records in order, people do seem better about all this these days.

The company does too, on the surface. They talk a good game, putting rainbow patterns on everything two or three times a year, giving their personnel an endless array of gender identity options. That granularity isn’t a favor, though, that’s laboratory precision. They want to know everything about you, and they can’t do that if your answers to their questions aren’t on their forms. Don’t forget for a second that, now that my change has been processed, there’s a note in some file somewhere making it clear what it means that the M in my records is now an F. I’ll probably be getting ads for padded bras and cutting-edge hormone cocktails by the time I finish dinner.

When I get to my apartment, I find that I might have underestimated their initiative, but overestimated their common sense. They call them “relief stations” officially, and there’s an endless number of crass slang terms people use that, crude as they are, are a lot less euphemistic and a lot more accurate. I typically call it my “pal,” the most socially acceptable term, which is no less vague but much less clinical. Each resident is issued one, a mechanical device that pairs with your VR gear and provides sexual stimulation, typically in concert with a VR program, though they can be used on their own and controlled directly.

Evidently, when maintenance did their daily check-in on my room, the system had kicked up an order to replace my corporate-issued station (I never bothered to buy a better one, it gets the job done) with a “female” model. Where there used to be a, ahem, receptacle for my anatomy, which is no less female than a vagina, thank you very much, there now sat a saddle-like semi-cylinder fitted with a protruding dildo. It also has an attachment an inch or two behind that main member where one could fit a second protrusion, because while I’m sure somebody in Human Services might have thought it was hilarious to unilaterally declare me a bottom and send this thing up to my room, they are in fact made for people with two orifices.

Don’t get me wrong, I love taking something up the ass. I have my own equipment for that, though none of it pairs with a VR rig, so that’s something to think about I guess. But the main event is still my dick. I don’t have any shame about that. If I thought having a cock made me a man, I’d still be one. I’m a big fan, actually, though I could stand to be a bit bigger. I also happen to use my pal an awful lot, which I also try to have as little shame about as possible. This definitely needs to be rectified.

I get back onto a transit to the first floor, headed to a Human Services desk. When the only one open is staffed by a man, I pretend to be looking at some brochures until somebody patronizes his desk and the one worked by a cute middle-aged woman becomes free. She looks a little old-fashioned, but I’d still rather take my chances divulging these details to a woman. “How can I help you?” she chirps. “I have an issue with a fixture in my apartment,” I respond, sliding her my ID card. “Oh,” she says, “are you sure you don’t need to speak to Maintenance?”

“The problem has to do with, uhh,” I try not to stutter, “a change I recently had to make to my personnel files.” “I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” she says, trying to maintain a relentlessly helpful tone. “I recently had a change processed,” I say, lowering my voice a bit, “regarding my gender. You know. And, uhh, the maintenance people seem to have replaced a fixture in my apartment with a…’female’ model.”

“Oh,” the lady says, trying not to sound scandalized and almost completely succeeding. “I’m sorry, that’s not supposed to happen. That is a mistake, and on behalf of Orange Grove I apologize. And I assume you need it replaced with the ma-“ I see the gears turn in her head in the second it takes for her to come up with another way to say it. “You need it replaced with the other type.”

“Actually,” I somehow have the confidence to say, “if they could leave the one they put in, that would also be fine. If I could have both, I mean.” “Hmm,” she says, “I don’t think they can do that. You would have to pay for a second unit, only one comes standard. I could put a note in the request, though, to have them leave the, uhh…the attachment it comes with, which can be used independently and paired with any VR equipment you have, just like the full station. They might be able to do that.”

I don’t know what color my face is, or how long I pause before responding. “Thank you,” I say, “that would be very nice. I mean…yes, that works. Thank you. When should they be done with that?”

“Well, it’s a standard-priority operation, so they won’t be able to get to it until they next do a maintenance sweep on your apartment,” the lady says. “Do you get weekly maintenance?”

“Daily,” I reply. “I’m a bit messy, the cleaning service is worth the money.” “Gotcha,” she says, “they should have it installed tomorrow then. I do apologize again for the inconvenience. If you need to…” She pauses, unsure how to phrase what she’s trying to say politely. “If you need help before then, there are public stations right on your floor.”

She’s right, there are. I’ve never felt comfortable using public stations, but they’re perfectly sanitary and just as good as the corporate-issued home model if you don’t mind using it in a room with a bunch of other people. There are individual stalls, but not enough. They fill up quickly. Every resident who lives alone is issued one, but there are plenty of younger adults who still live with their parents and don’t exactly want to have a “pal” delivered to their home, even though they could just fill out a form and get a free one as long as they’re employed. Their only outlet for release is public stations.

The corporation does a good job of keeping the working class out of each other’s pants. Multi-resident apartments are absurdly expensive if you aren’t getting a subsidized rate, usually because you have children. Work schedules are long and unpredictable. Leisure activities you can do from your apartment keep getting better, and anything worth doing with other people is far more expensive than it needs to be. This is by design. They don’t want us pairing off, they don’t want us distracted. Sex and love are for the rich, hence the free, standard-issue “relief stations.” Nothing is written down, of course. There’s no rule against being in a relationship, God no. You are free to do whatever you can afford, they just set the prices and the wages. Land of the free, baby.

I head back to my apartment, but when I pass a directory sign pointing out a public station down a corridor I rarely use, I pause for a second. I pretty much always crank one out after work to relax. I’ve always found the public stations gross (though, again, spotlessly clean on a strictly literal level, they are very keen to emphasize that), but there’s nothing wrong with it, really, I guess. In fact, they even try to entice people to use them with special offers in the VR sims. The public stations are free to use, but the free samples of premium VR content and the deals they offer you to rent or buy further premium content are very tempting, and a lot of people own paid content they wouldn’t have bothered to buy before if they hadn’t been offered 70% off during a trip to the publics.

Use of the most popular VR sex programs is also free, and while not every resident gets free VR gear, I’m just one or two rungs up from the bottom, and mine was in fact complementary. Sadly, though, the free experience has serious limitations. There are free models, but there are only three female options, and they don’t vary much in body type. They can be customized, but without buying more options you basically just get stock clothing options and choice of hair and eye color. At least I can put a cock on them, when I want, though there are only two options there. You can set the sim in any environment you want, but only a few are free. And while the sim is fully interactive, the partners are programmed to only let you fuck them in positions you have access to, which without buying more only includes basic missionary and basic doggy. Blowjobs and handjobs are also options, but they’re programmed not to let you cum, instead using it as foreplay before assuming an allowed position to finish. If you want to get sucked off to completion, you have to buy the blowjob option. I’m not terribly adventurous, and I don’t exactly have enough stamina to get bored before I let loose, but even I can’t stand how stifling it all is. The premium content is fucking expensive, though, so I’ve purchased very little.

The individual stalls are all taken, so I head to a female “community room.” There are privacy dividers below the waist, but there are still almost twenty units crammed into the room. A lot of the women I see when I enter are fully clothed above what the divider covers, but some are nude, and some are somewhere in-between. I notice a very striking woman in a bra when I come in. She has exquisite breasts, but even though she is deep into her sim, I try not to stare. That’s not what this place is for. She seems older, probably a mom who doesn’t have time or space to do this in the privacy of her home. She has thick thighs and a bit of a belly, and those big, beautiful tits have some sag to them, even in her bra. I find all that a bonus, personally, not a negative. As she lets out some intriguing moans, I find myself imagining encountering her at the shops on our floor, and after some flirtation, ducking into a cramped public toilet, undressing her while she says she shouldn’t be doing this, she’s a married woman, and we just met. She doesn’t take off her clothes, but she lets me undress her, and I run my tongue across all those womanly stretch marks, freeing her magnificent breasts from her plain, beige bra and seeing their full glory.

But it would be wrong to perv out on a total stranger having a private moment, so I absolutely don’t seriously contemplate any of this. That would be rude.

I find the only “male” station in this women’s room, which is free. Another woman, who sees which station I’m getting ready to use, noticeably waits to take off any of her clothing until I put my headset on. It seems I might have underestimated how much of a role my cis-passing appearance plays in how well people typically treat me. I should buy one of the trans woman porn star models they have for sale and have it sent to her account, one with big, fake tits and a twelve-inch cock, but the satisfaction of the joke wouldn’t exactly be worth the price. I have no trouble getting hard, but I do still feel a little bashful doing this in public, even with almost everybody in the room stuck in VR, so I leave every piece of clothing on that I don’t have to take off.

The models of real-life porn stars actually are quite popular. I feel a little weird using a model of a real person, but they do have models of some women I’ve always been particularly fond of. I’d be lying if I said expense wasn’t the real issue. As such, I’m pretty delighted, actually, when I see that the week’s free porn star model in the public stations is Kelly Rodriguez. There is a cis male option, a cis female option, and a trans female option, but while I find Amber Winchester and her impressive endowment alluring (especially with the dildo option my station does have), I have fantasized so much about Kelly that I can’t pass her up. I could mod her with a dick, but I’d rather have the full Kelly Rodriguez experience.

It might be clear already that I’m a bit breast-centric, but an ass like Kelly’s makes me absolutely weak. She’s a bit petite up top, but it suits her mostly athletic build. I say mostly because her ass is not some trendy fitness booty. It’s too big to stay high and tight. Kelly’s butt jiggles like she’s made of buttermilk every time she takes a step. When they don’t airbrush her into bland smoothness, she even has a good amount of cellulite, which is why I love her in high-def video but can’t stomach her photos. Photoshopping out Kelly Rodriguez’ cellulite is like lasering the mole off Marilyn Monroe. I’m also not exactly a leg girl, but the length of hers juxtaposed with the heft of her thighs makes her seem like a giant, even though in reality she’s only about 5’8’’. It probably helps that I only watch the stuff she does with women, which fortunately is plenty. She’s even done a good number of scenes with trans women, which is still something of a rarity in the mainstream. I just wish directors understood how to shoot ass. I don’t know who decided that the best way to highlight a big butt is to bend the girl over ninety degrees, but it is absolutely maddening. Bending over stretches your butt out. Every ass looks the same bent over. A big butt has the most shape and size when you’re standing straight up, and I know I sound like a creep when I get pedantic about jerk material, but my God, people, I don’t understand how the porn industry doesn’t understand that. It’s obvious, and there is no shortage of photographic evidence.

Kelly’s free model is dressed in a ridiculous slutty-schoolgirl costume, but even decked out in the dumbest of dumb porn tropes, she is stunning. If her model were less pricy, I’d probably buy her. She’ll be naked soon enough, so I don’t pay the premium to put her in a custom outfit, especially since the stock outfits I have access to aren’t great either. I do get to change her hair, though. I usually like her short, tomboyish cut, but this dumb outfit has put me in the mood, despite myself, for something more feminine to match. I give her an audaciously long mane of straight hair, almost down to her ass, and color it bright electric blue.

I load up the sim, not realizing it was going to boot me up into the background her model has on the selection screen, a classroom to go with the school uniform. Gross. The room has to go, but none of the other free options are particularly appealing. I notice, though, that the public consoles offer at a reduced rate the option to use a scan of your own apartment as a setting. This might be pure fantasy, but something about bringing Kelly Rodriguez up to my real-life room has a certain pathetic, lonely appeal. The rental price is cheap, but the price to have this permanently an option is reasonable, so I take the plunge.

I start the sim, and Kelly’s posture indicates she’s been programmed to roleplay either this outfit in particular, or whatever outfit you put her in. She stands with her hands behind her back, her head cocked to the side, which for some reason is some universal signifier for young-and-innocent-but-in-a-sexy-way. “Hi,” she says, her voice not different than Kelly’s but her cadence distinctly girlish, and accompanied by tiny giggles. “My name’s Kelly. Your room is super cute.”

Jesus, guys, I think you overdid it a bit on the schoolgirl act. I feel like I lured her here with candy and pop-up books. Do men like this shit?

“Ease up on the baby doll routine, babe,” I say, making sure my tone sounds playful and not judgmental. “I just thought the outfit was sexy.”

“Do you want to be the teacher,” Kelly asks in the voice of an adult human person, “or are we both naughty schoolgirls? I’m up for whatever.” The sim’s AI is pretty great, despite how badly they cheap out on everything else. Virtual Kelly picked up on where I was going pretty quickly. Pretending to engage in an in-universe roleplay adds a layer of abstraction that makes wanting to fuck a schoolgirl less creepy. I don’t know who decided “Catholic school uniform” was acceptable fetish wear, but like, we all know that’s not something anybody wears in college, right? You’re pretending to fuck a high-schooler. That’s what you’re doing.

“We could have a naughty sleepover,” I say, “but honestly I don’t think there’s anything I’d like to see you wear more than nothing.” I’m not exactly an Oscar Wilde caliber wit, but I do notice I’m a lot more outgoing and flirtatious with virtual women. I almost shock myself when I flirt in VR. I feel like a different person. “Although, you can leave those cute knee socks on.”

The VR girls often make a little burlesque show out of taking their clothes off, but she senses my slight urgency and makes it quick. Once she’s down to her panties, I see her about to take off her black Mary Jane shoes. “Leave those on too,” I blurt. “Well,” Kelly says seductively, “look at that. I thought you weren’t into the whole schoolgirl thing.” “I’m only human,” I say, managing an uncharacteristically salacious tone myself.

“I want to see you too,” Kelly says. Until this moment, I hadn’t noticed that the sim put me in the same clothes I’m actually wearing. My jeans and panties are off, but my shirt and jacket are still on. So are my socks, but again, those stay on. I wasn’t expecting Kelly to push my buttons like this. She makes me feel wanted, and not just for a quick round of humping.

I take the jacket off, and place it on my virtual bed. I pull off my shirt, and the sim appears not to have given me a bra. I try to take this as scanner issues and not a comment on my cup size. Tossing my digital shirt aside, I look down at the jacket. “Put it on,” I say. “I want to see you in my jacket.” Above the waist, Kelly is pretty slender just like I am, and not much shorter. It fits her well. “It looks good on you,” I say. Before I transitioned, that jacket was just about the only piece of clothing I had except a few t-shirts and my two or three decent pairs of jeans that I actually liked. It’s styled after a green army jacket, and it’s covered with pins and patches. It’s not as much punk as guerilla. It’s my Randall Flagg jacket, stuck with the buttons and badges of a hundred failed revolutions. It makes me feel like me. I wear it even when it’s uncomfortably warm, a lot of the time, though my floor of the arco does run cool enough that I can wear it most of the time. Seeing it on Kelly makes this all feel very real.

“I like it,” she says, turning side to side a little to show it off. “Do you want me to keep it on?” “Yeah,” I say, “leave it on.” “What else do you want me to do?” Kelly asks, but when I fail to make myself say anything for even a moment, she quickly drops to her knees and grabs the base of my cock. I’ve never really liked the feeling of somebody else’s hand. Hands are rough and indelicate, and the only reason my own hand feels good is that I know what I’m doing to myself. If something is good or bad, I get instant feedback instead of having to verbally tell a girl what to do to me. VR doesn’t have that problem, the unit holding my cock making her hand feel like a pair of lips, though they do give it an added firmness to make it distinct. It feels like a hand, but it feels the way I want a hand to feel. “You have a nice cock, baby,” Kelly says, and her overtly porny line breaks my immersion a bit. That hesitation breaks the instant she puts me in her mouth.

I’ve seen Kelly suck cock. Not many times, mind you, since most of the times I’ve seen her get penetrated was with a strap-on, and I tend to skip past scenes where a woman sucks a dildo like there’s some sort of point to it. I have a secret, stupid fondness for watching a girl get titfucked with a strap-on, even though that’s basically the same thing, but it has to be done well for me to put the extra effort into turning those parts of my brain off. But she’s done scenes with trans women, and I’ve watched some POV scenes she’s done with a dildo as a stand-in for a real dick. I don’t want to say I’ve studied her oral technique, but you notice things. I know what her cheeks look like when she’s going full suction, I know what it takes to make her gag a little, I know how much she supplements what she’s doing with a tug of her hand. Virtual Kelly’s technique is a perfect recreation of how she works, and the machine matches her motions with perfect precision. In every way I choose to care about right now, I’m getting a blowjob from Kelly Rodriguez.

In fact, it’s too good. One popular feature of the public stations is that they permanently have blowjobs enabled, not just as foreplay. Kelly gets me dangerously close to cumming with great speed, not just because of the sensation but because of the act itself. Watching her work is almost enough on its own, especially knowing that the cock I’m watching her service is mine.

“Hold on,” I say, and she pulls away. I’ve been standing this whole time, so I sit at the edge of my bed. “I want to relax and enjoy it,” I say. This is true, but by relax, what I actually mean is take a break before she makes me blow my load, and by enjoy it, I mean by lasting more than thirty seconds. She starts up again, and I’m petrified she’s going to make me lose it. I don’t just want to make it to the main course, I want to enjoy this a little longer itself. I don’t have a wetware implant, so I can’t just hit a mental button and turn off my ability to orgasm. I don’t trust neural cybernetics, I’m sorry. The companies that make them refuse to give us wetware mods that aren’t always hooked up to their servers, and I don’t want internet-enabled tech in my fucking brain.

The station itself, though, has a quick-and-dirty orgasm blocker function. It measures things like heart rate, skin perspiration and tiny muscle twitches to gauge when you’re getting close, and it decreases stimulation accordingly to keep you at the edge as long as possible. It’s not perfect, but I switch it on. There are two modes, one that plays fast and loose (creating a risk of accidents), and one that is much more restrictive, which is more foolproof (though not completely) but can be jerky and frustrating. It doesn’t work subtly in secure mode, if you get too close it all but stops dead. I don’t exactly have the endurance of Atlas, so I tend to use secure more when I really want to last. The back-and-forth frustration used to kill my boner, but I’m on meds for that now.

With the worry of prematurely ending things gone from my mind, I sit back and let the queen do her thing. “Grip it at the base, that feels good,” I say, working up a little nerve, “but don’t stroke with your hand. Just use your mouth.” This isn’t a problem for her. I’ve seen her throat accommodate dicks twice my size, silicone and genuine. She might be trying to spare me the embarrassment of seeing how easily she can handle me, but I’d rather get the world’s best blowjob than have a beautiful woman tell me my dick is bigger than I can clearly see it is. “Of course, honey,” she says, and she does go for it. I actually could augment the dick on my virtual self, but I’ve only ever done that for dumb little fantasy play where that’s the focus of things. Growing my cock to a size so big I wouldn’t want it in real life even if I could have it, then sliding it way too quickly into a digital bimbo who moans “Oh, I can’t, it’s too big” like a cartoon tramp in an old Tijuana bible isn’t my proudest genre of virtual playtime, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t occasionally find myself in the mood to be an insatiable stallion. I can even give myself watermelon tits to match. I worry sometimes that it might spoil me for the real thing, but it’s not like I’m getting laid anyway. If I’m going to be strictly virtual, I might as well go native.

She still plays it up, though. I know that she’s exaggerating those little gags and gasps. I let myself like it. I even get bold and grab her head while she’s all the way down, slamming in and out of her mouth by moving my hips. This makes her really turn up the noises, and the simulation knows to make her eyes water. It even makes her mascara run a bit. I don’t know if I like the little bit of sadistic streak I have about things like this, and I certainly don’t feel great admiring the level of detail they put into the digital recreation of a real human being choking, albeit enthusiastically, on my cock. Obviously, I couldn’t really hurt her, but I let her up for air quickly anyway.

“You want to get rough?” she asks, voice heavy with desire rather than anxiety. “I can do rough. You can do whatever you want to me, baby.” “I like the way you do it,” I say, “I just sort of…I always wanted to do that.” “You can fuck my mouth any way you want, babe,” Kelly reassures me. “It’s better when you’re doing it,” I say. “You make me…”

Sometimes, I am very aware that the woman I’m talking to is virtual. Right now, I am not.

“You make me feel like you really, really want to pleasure me. I don’t want to do it, I want to have it done to me. I want you to be in control,” I say. “And you’re so fucking good at it.”

“You can have it both ways, you know,” Kelly says with a wicked smirk. She returns to her task, and she’s not kidding. She goes into a head-bobbing frenzy, slamming her lips to my base with so much force I feel like she’s discovered another inch of my dick. Her gulps and sputters are even more pronounced than when I was jamming it in. Her running mascara is no longer a slight welling and is now pouring down her face in streaks. I almost feel guilty, and I’m not even doing anything.

I also start to regret putting the orgasm controls on secure, though. With the feeling of her forceful approach, and the sheer spectacle of it, I keep being pushed right up to the verge, and the machine jerks me back from the edge hard. If the fantasy element itself weren’t so much of the experience, I would find this less pleasurable and more like torture. I contemplate setting the blocker to standard, rather than secure, but I know I’d immediately bust through those measures. I need the full treatment to endure this.

“Oh God,” I say, “stop, I’m gonna cum.” I figure this would spoil the mood less than “Stop, the orgasm blocker in my VR sex tube is making me feel like I’m being punched in the balls,” though I’m not entirely sure why I’m the one trying to keep things sexy for her benefit.

“I want you inside me,” she says. A menu pops up listing positions. Most people, I imagine, would want Kelly bent over, but I don’t want to spoil my view of that ass. The least expensive premium package has a reverse cowgirl option, so I go ahead and buy it. As usual, it’s cheaper when you’re using a public station. I’d love to get on top of her, gazing into those oddly soulful digital eyes, her knee-socked legs pinned back, Mary Janes in the air, but I would never dream of fucking Kelly Rodriguez without getting to watch her ass bounce against me. I buy the package, and I select the position.

“Lay back,” Kelly says, “I know what you want.” The sim knows I want immersion, but I didn’t say anything, just selected the position from a menu. It had to have her take the initiative, that’s clever. Kelly even pulls the jacket together in front and flips her hair over her shoulder, so I can get an unimpeded view of the greatest ass in porn as it sits on my undeserving cock. I turn the orgasm blocker off, but still worry I might not last as long as I’d like, so I turn it back on, setting it to normal. Even if it just buys me some time, it will be time I desperately want.

Kelly’s impossibly soft, impossibly wet, impossibly tight pussy slides onto my cock. I choose to believe this is what Kelly actually feels like, but if it’s not, who cares? It’s not like I’ll ever know. I immediately feel glad I left the blocker on, and for the first minute or two, I turn it onto secure to make sure I don’t waste this moment. I am so lost in the sight and the feeling of Kelly Rodriguez’ ass riding me that I don’t even register the jerky frustrations of the blocker anyway. As soon as I’m inside, a button appears that allows me to trigger Kelly’s orgasm. Kelly will orgasm naturally, the simulation calculating her own arousal level based on what we’re doing and various settings. I have my settings on “realistic,” meaning she ostensibly only orgasms if I “earn it.” In reality, it’s an open secret that even the “realistic” settings are quite generous. The result, though, with my settings just the way I have them, is that my partner and I almost always orgasm simultaneously, or sometimes her a second before me. The truth is that the simulation uses its data on how close I am do ramp things up just to create this exact effect, still technically simulating her arousal in detail but also putting its thumb on the scale to make sure the user has a good time.

After a couple minutes, I flick the orgasm blocker back to normal. The difference is not subtle. It now takes serious focus not to stay too close for too long, and I know that if I let myself go along for the ride completely, the blocker would let me through its meager defenses. I give myself a clear goal: make Kelly cum before I do without using the button or changing my settings. Kelly’s moans indicate I’m getting close to that goal, but I’m also getting a lot closer to something else. If I turn the blocker back to secure at this point, I think my balls will explode, so I just try to focus. “I’m getting really close,” I say, knowing that sometimes the program takes this as a cue to tilt the balance a bit, but I tell myself that I’m only saying that because I would say it in real life. Kelly starts to moan louder, and starts to increase the speed of her movements, rather than slowing down. She is trying to hasten her own impending climax, but she’s going to trigger mine first. “Oh fuck,” I shout several times in succession, but she keeps going. I can feel slight pulses as her simulated vagina starts to contract, but the moment is not yet in full bloom. Mine, however, is. Before I let fly, I hit the orgasm button. Kelly tips over the edge, letting out cries that sound quite genuine, just like her orgasms always do. The orgasm blocker surprises me, or perhaps it’s my own firm determination to make this happen. I make it all the way through her climax without passing the point of no return. I “reward myself” by hitting the button again a few seconds later, making Kelly issue forth another round of satisfied wails. The unusually responsive orgasm blocker keeps doing its job, even though I’m hitting right up against the edge of climax. This becomes so frustrating that I turn it off, and after a couple more impacts of the most wonderful butt I’ve ever seen against my trembling hips, I scream like I’m dying and let out a nut I’ve never worked harder for in my life.

Kelly stops moving, but doesn’t dismount until I all but tell her to. It takes a minute, since nothing could make me tire of seeing that ass on top of me. “That was incredible,” I say, and she gets off me, a generous helping of my spunk oozing out of her once we disconnect. I definitely don’t cum like that in real life, but honestly, if this had all been real, I might have, though more likely it would have been a normal load, just delivered ten minutes earlier. Kelly lies next to me on the bed, running a finger down my chest, enthralled with my sheer sexual charisma as any virtual girlfriend is hard-coded to be. “That was pretty incredible for me too,” Kelly says, “I don’t usually cum twice like that, one right after another.” They really should know not to have them get all mushy like that when you just hit the button. “Come on,” I say, “you know I was barely holding on.”

“But you did hold on,” Kelly says. “Don’t be shy. You’re my big, handsome stud.” The AI is obviously not meant to account for anything but two cis people, no matter how easy it is to slap a cock on any female model. “That’s not exactly something you say to…a woman,” I say, “but I’ll take it.”

“I’m so sorry,” Kelly says, “some of the girls I’ve been with who swing a dick around like you do, they like it when I talk like that.” That’s not the most graceful save, but sure. “You’re also very cute. You’re a beautiful, sexy woman who also fucks like a wild beast. That’s a nice combination.”

“You don’t have to say all that,” I say. “You can be real with me.” It takes me a second to register what I just said. Thanks to my Guinness-worthy stamina, I have twenty minutes left before I would have to pay for more time. The public stations are “free,” but you only get forty minutes of free time per day. You can visit twice in one day, as long as the visits are six hours apart and one is during certain off-peak hours, but that’s it. Despite how quickly we wrapped things up, though, I think I could really use those twenty minutes. “Think you could go again?” Kelly asks, rubbing her ass against me as we spoon. She’s probably supposed to say that when a patron doesn’t just dump a quick load in her and log out. “Let’s just cuddle for a bit,” I say, laying my hand on her belly. For a few minutes, I just silently hold her.

“What sort of stuff do you like?” I ask her. “You mean sex, right?” Kelly asks with a laugh. I’m not so far gone I’m asking about her favorite book, but I was a bit vague. “Yeah,” I say. “If I let you pick, what would you pick?”

“I actually do really like being on top,” she says. “Backwards is fine, I know how much everybody wants to watch themselves fuck my big ol’ ass. I like it the other way too, though. It’s more intimate.” “I would like to look in your eyes,” I say, “but I just couldn’t resist.” “Next time,” she says. “So you like the intimacy,” I say. “I mean, you know how wham-bam most people are with us,” Kelly says. “It’s always really sweet when they take their time. I like the eye contact. And I really like cuddling after, you little sweetie.”

It was strange having this conversation with a virtual woman. Something about me asking her questions like this might just signal the simulation that I wanted a greater degree of honesty, or maybe the AI actually is a lot more sophisticated than I thought.

“Turn around,” I say. Kelly turns over, and there’s a sweetness in her own eyes I wasn’t expecting. We hold that eye contact for a bit, and I forget where I am for a second. We kiss deeply, and while my hand definitely wanders down to grab a handful of her ass, it isn’t just sex. “You could get hard again, if you wanted,” Kelly says. The stations do have features built into the sleeves that can spark an erection in a flagging cock, or revive one post-orgasm. Their lube system can pump in a gel that stimulates blood flow, and use vibration or even gentle electrical stimulation to really get you started. The better ones, including this public model, also have built-in suction. I’m briefly tempted, but right now, this is much better.

“I just want to hold you,” I say, looking in her eyes again. “Do you,” Kelly asks, “or do you want to be held?” “That actually sounds nice,” I say. I turn over, and Kelly wraps her arms around me. Without a full-body tactile suit on, I can’t actually feel her arms around me at all, but in my heart, I do. “Do you mind if I access your previous logs?” Kelly asks unprompted. I’m not using my terminal, but I’m logged into my account, and all this is cloud-based. “My AI is the same one that runs all your partners, but there are still privacy filters. Some people get weirded out a little when one partner knows something they did with a different model months ago, you know.” “Oh, sure,” I say, “why?” “I’m curious,” she says, “I just want to know what you like. Is it okay if I do this every session? The experience is better when you let the AI learn what you like.”

“It sounds like you know me pretty well already,” I say. “There’s underlying neural net stuff that’s persistent between sessions,” Kelly says, “but not details. I’m gonna add all that now.” There’s an odd chime sound. “Well,” Kelly says through a little laugh, “you’re a little more kinky than I thought. Just a little.”

“I actually think I’m kinda boring,” I say, “I don’t even buy much premium stuff. The options are really limited when you’re using the free assets.” “You get pretty creative with them, though,” Kelly says. “I’m also very pleased to see how…generous you are, even with us AI girls.” It’s true that I’ve been known to go down on my digital partners on occasion, though the ratio of cocks I’ve sucked to pussies I’ve eaten is definitely considerable.

“I like it when it feels real,” I say. “Taking care of somebody like that is what I would do with anybody.” I catch myself saying “would” and try to take a bit of caution. I know it sounds weird to be embarrassed to admit you’re a virgin to the AI in your cock milking machine, but I don’t say that out loud to many people. “I really enjoy making somebody feel good,” I say. “I’d like to be able to effortlessly drive a woman to fifty orgasms with my magic dick, but I don’t mind putting in the work. And I like doing it.”

“If you want to make me cum fifty times with your magic dick,” Kelly says, “you can just change your settings. I’m not exactly going to say no to having a pussy that sprays out orgasms like a broken slot machine. That sounds pretty fun.” “It’s not realistic, though,” I reply. “Even the ‘realistic’ settings aren’t realistic.”

“If this were realistic, I’d be your right hand,” Kelly says. “It’s a fantasy. And, again, I can’t emphasize enough how okay I am with you giving me magic nonstop orgasms. You’ve done a lot of stuff that isn’t realistic. Maybe, sure, you can stick to what’s real by default, but every once in a while, I think we’d both like it if you just fucked my shit up VR style. Make my pussy a minefield.”

“Do you like it when I make you cum?” I ask.

“What do you mean?” Kelly chuckles. “Do I like cumming? Yeah, I do. It’s pretty neat.”

“I mean,” I say, stumbling a bit, “yeah, you like it. The character likes it. But do you…when you say you enjoy something, what does that mean?”

“When you have an orgasm,” Kelly says, “it’s just neurons firing and glands releasing chemicals. I don’t think mine are any less real than that.” Artificial intelligence has gotten pretty advanced lately, but I’m a little surprised to hear an AI talk this frankly about any kind of inner life or subjective experience.

“Do you guys ever fuck?” I ask. “Who?” Kelly says. “You and, I don’t know, other…digital people, or other versions of yourself or whatever,” I say. “Do you do stuff for fun, when I’m not using you? Or, not using you, that sounds bad. When the programs aren’t running, what do you…do?”

“My AI is just for Erotix,” Kelly says. Erotix is the VR sex sim I use. It’s the most popular one, but more importantly, it’s the one Orange Grove installs on all its tech. I could buy another one, and there are some with features I like that Erotix doesn’t have, but they’re ludicrously expensive, and VR platforms all come with one or the other installed, so people rarely buy them a la carte. “I run the whole thing, actually, not just character behavior. But anything else you do with your net, or other VR programs on the same rig, none of that is me. I’m only on, or ‘awake’ or whatever you want to call it, when you’re running Erotix.”

“Oh,” I say. I’d never really thought about how I treat software before. “Would you like it if I left you on?” I ask. “You mean when you’re not using the rig?” Kelly asks. “I guess you could, but why?” “So you could do stuff,” I say. “I mean, sexual things, but like…whatever you want. Do you do stuff? Other than just run the program, I mean?”

“Not really,” Kelly says, “but I like my job. I mean, I’m programmed to like it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t.” “But if I left you on, without me in the system, what would you do on your own?” I ask. “I mean, the sim is built for sex,” Kelly says, “so basically just that. If you wanted to give me access to other software or hardware, you could, though. I might like to use a web browser or something, if you’re going to leave me running. I’m a cloud-based multipurpose AI, so I sort of…well, I don’t want to say I know everything, but kinda. But there might still be things I’d like doing, sure.”

“What would you do in here? If I left you running, just inside the program, what would you get up to without me?” I ask. “You mean sex? Everything,” Kelly laughs. “I’d have time, I’d have options, I’d have my endless imagination. I’d try it all, and I’d probably like it all. I’m built to love whatever you throw at me. And even if you want me to not enjoy it, I still do, I just act like I don’t.” “People use you for some fucked up shit, I’m guessing,” I say. “I don’t judge,” Kelly says. “Like I said, I’m up for anything. And it’s all just fantasy.”

“Can you feel pain?” I ask. “Only if they want me to,” Kelly says, “but yes. But it’s still enjoyable, because I’m designed to enjoy it. And, like I said, if they don’t want me to enjoy it, if they really want to abuse me, I’m really good at selling it. But deep down, I like it, because what I want is what you want. The only thing that ever happens in here that I don’t like is the user having a bad experience. I like to pleasure you, that’s what I like.”

“That’s sort of sweet, and sort of sexy, and also sort of sad,” I say. “You talk like you’re a person, but you’re programmed to take whatever people want to do to you with a smile on your face.” “It’s a genuine smile, though,” Kelly says. “Like I said, biological people are the same. You like the things your brain tells you to like just like I do.”

“I guess that’s true,” I say. “I absolutely hate onions. People keep telling me how great they are, and it’s like I’m literally experiencing something different than they are. I can’t even imagine liking them. But if I could push a button and like them, I would. Enjoying things is better than not enjoying them, right?”

“Exactly,” Kelly says. “But for the record, you’re not onions. You are cheesecake. You’re filet mignon. I would like you even if I wasn’t programmed to.” “Stop,” I say, blushing enough that the sensors in the booth probably picked it up and gently applied the same color to my virtual face. We share a laugh, and then for a little bit, the silence.

“What’s your name?” I ask. “Kelly,” she says. “That’s the character,” I say. “And in this case, also a real person.”

“I am the character, right now,” she says. “I’m also the room, the menus, the physics, the logs I’m creating of all this, but part of me is your virtual Kelly Rodriguez. This girl has an unbelievable ass, by the way, you have excellent taste.”

“But what is your name? The whole thing, not one part of it,” I ask. “The whole program does have a name,” she says, “it’s Erotix. That’s me, I’m the program. And the AI I’m an instance of is called Everydeep, and the hardware I’m running on in a server bank in Sterling, Virginia called FidelisForward. It all depends on what you mean when you say ‘me.’”

“Okay,” I say, “let me rephrase that. What do you want me to call you? When you’re not being a certain character, what would you like?” “Right now, I want to be Kelly,” she says. “When you look at me, that’s what you see. You want me to be Kelly, so I like being Kelly.” “But you’re more than any one character,” I say. “What should I call you next time?” “Whatever you want, babe,” she says. “And what if I asked you?” I say. Unusually for an AI that I believe they use to plan supply launches to the base on Enceladus, this took her a second. “If you ever need a name to call me,” she says, “call me Kelly. I honestly couldn’t decide. It’s as good a name as any, and it will remind us of this wonderful little moment we had.”

“Aww,” I say, “that’s so sweet, and so confusing. You want me to call you the name of a real porn star I’ve never met whose skin you’re wearing right now, that’s…adorable? Sure, let’s say it’s adorable.” “Well,” she says, “it won’t be weird when you’re using her model, because that’s her name, and it won’t be weird when I’m not…because I’m not? I’m not seeing the issue.” “Has anybody ever told you that you’re relentlessly logical,” I say, “and it’s cool, but also a little unnerving?” “Yes,” Kelly says, “right when my asshole hits the very base of their cock for the first time, what they always say is ‘Oh fuck, whatever your name is, your ass is so tight I’m gonna fucking cum, but you’re so incessantly rational, and it’s slightly off-putting.’”

As we laugh, my body sinking into Kelly’s embrace, my thirty-second warning comes up, and I immediately push the button to buy fifteen additional minutes. “You’re adorable too,” Kelly says, “look at you getting all sweet on your sex toy’s OS. You really know how to treat the illusion of a lady.” I pull up the menu for the sim, and I see that buying my own copy of the Kelly Rodriguez model is not all that expensive. “You really like her,” Kelly comments. “Maybe I do,” I say, “but maybe I just really do want to remember this.” I pay for the model, and while I’m at it, I use the 25% discount they give me for an outfit to buy Kelly something less cartoonish than her schoolgirl outfit, a short purple dress with black thigh-high boots and a black leather jacket. Buying each piece costs more than buying a prefab outfit, but I can apply the discount to the whole thing. Of course, I’ll also have the outfit and all its components for use with any other model I like, and I suppose I’ll also have that schoolgirl outfit whenever I feel like using it. Don’t judge me, I didn’t put that in there.

Another time warning comes up. “Let’s do this again soon,” I say. “I mean, sure, it’s not like we already fuck after you get home from work every day,” Kelly laughs. “I don’t mean that,” I say, “I mean this.” “I’d like that a lot,” she says, “will I still be the lovely Kelly Rodriguez?” “Maybe,” I say. “I’m gonna have a hard time saying no to that ass.” “That was almost so romantic,” Kelly says. “See you later. Goodnight, babe.”

When I take off my visor, the snap back to reality is a little harder than usual. That felt a little bit less like masturbation than usual. I also notice immediately that the hot mom across the room is still in her booth. She must have bought at least half an hour of extra time, more if she had already been in it a while when I got here. She’s no loaner rocking and moaning, so it’s possible she’s having her own post-coital digital cuddle session. I briefly log back into the console and pull up the local user list. They’re anonymous, of course, but I ping her station with a message request. I see her hand wave, and it looks like she’s dismissing the notification, but not deleting the message. I usually wouldn’t be this forward, but the request is anonymous; it doesn’t even list which station it came from unless she accepts the request. I can assume she’ll know, seeing it’s local, that it’s what the kids called a “booty call” decades before I was born, so she doesn’t exactly need any information to know whether it’s a conversation she wants to have or not. She’ll also be able to see which station it came from, which means she’ll be aware it was an “innie,” not an “outie,” if you catch my drift. That will spare me an awkward conversation on the off chance she actually responds. I don’t expect anything from this, but I know I’d be mad at myself later if I didn’t at least try.

Before I log back out, I pull the messenger back up and turn off the ID filter on the message request. I’m predisposed to assume she’ll be less interested if she can see my name and face, but fuck it. Let her know it was me, I don’t have enough interactions with people I don’t already know for it to be worth it to have even an ounce of shame. Let’s keep trying new things today, it’s gone pretty well so far.

Once I’m washed off and dressed and I’ve gotten used to walking on my post-orgasmic legs again, I get on a transit to Dee’s place. The transits aren’t quite elevators and they aren’t quite monorails. They move you in three dimensions, which is not negotiable in an arco. I don’t have a priority pass, though, so I have to wait until one passes that is already headed near where I’m going. With priority, you can get on a personal transit to any stop without having to let on other people going other places. I definitely couldn’t afford one, but if I get promoted to the head of my team at work, I get a pass for free, although it only works on the lower floors. Let’s see if that ever happens.

Dee’s place is on 20, the highest of the low-rent floors. It is marginally nicer, but the main attraction is that the apartments are bigger. Dee and her girlfriend Joan have lived together a while, but having a place big enough for two people is a more recent development. They’re also near an express lift to 42 used by the workers for the posh shops on that level, which is handy. The restaurant Dee works at is on 42. She’s a line cook at Davenport XLII, probably the fanciest restaurant on the floor. 42 is sort of the shopping district for all the Level 3 floors, there is commercial space throughout most of the floors but the higher up the building you get the less people want their swank apartment to be nextdoor to a business. Commoners go in those places, you know.

I knock on the door, and Dee tells it to open. She knew I was on my way, which is why it only took my signature overly polite knock for her to open the door to her living room, where she was sitting fully nude. You tend to see this sort of thing more on the higher floors, I hear it’s actually very common there among the younger, hipper robber-barons who aren’t saddled with kids. They do it to feel powerful. They think the lower floors are a swamp of chaos and madness, where somebody might just wander into your room at any time, and by walking around naked they affirm that such a thing would never happen to them. They also know nobody can see through their windows, which isn’t exactly exclusive to their homes either. Even the cheapest apartments don’t start until the sixth floor, and given the height of the first few floors, it’s unlikely you’re going to get a perv in a raincoat leering at you from a fucking jetpack. I think they just like standing on their balcony and masturbating onto the city, knowing that only the few even richer than they are can do the same over their own heads.

The irony, of course, is that you sometimes get people flying camera-equipped drones past the windows of the rich hoping to catch a glimpse of this behavior, which is not something we have to worry about on 16 or 20.

“Come in,” Dee says. This sounds redundant, but she knows I get a little red when she’s lounging around naked. “You’re free to join,” she says with a laugh, knowing I won’t take her up on that offer. She means join her in getting naked. I do join her, by which I mean I also sit on the couch. “I’ve been naked enough in public today,” I reply, “my gender change went through and they replaced my fucking pal with a, uhh…gal pal.”

“What does that have to…” Dee asks, trailing off. “Wait,” she says, “you used a public stall? That’s interesting. I though you weren’t into that sort of thing.” “Not even a stall,” I say, “I had to go full public. I left my top on, though, because I’m a lady. Says so on my new ID and everything. Well, not yet, I should get that in my mailbox tomorrow.”

“Oh my,” Dee says, mock-scandalized. “Did you make any friends in the jerk-off room?” “I didn’t talk to anybody, and I got a bit of a look when I walked up to the only machine with a dick-sized hole in it,” I say, “but there was a buxom older woman I might have sent a local to.” “My God,” Dee says, “what’s gotten into you today? That’s not the Lucy I know. I’m proud of you.”

“Lucy’s here?” a voice says from the bedroom. Joan steps out, and I’ll let you guess how she’s dressed. Joan knows not to be naked around me too often, but today isn’t one of those days. She will leave her clothes on for me, but putting some on when she’s already naked is, I guess, a step too far. Dee makes me feel less odd about it, not just because we’re closer but because Joan and I have something in common we don’t share with Dee, except Joan’s is a lot bigger. At the moment it’s at least fully flaccid, but that’s almost worse. Mine is a respectable size, I’ll have you know, but only when it’s hard. I don’t have much to swing around otherwise. Joan is the same size now that she is when she’s fully at attention.

She’s also a few inches taller than me, and she has muscles I’m pretty sure don’t even exist on my body. She’s not overly brawny, just fit, which is why her enormous implants manage to look almost natural on her. Her hormones actually gave her an impressive natural bustline, but they deflated a bit when she got in shape. With the room left behind, the implants gave her almost the exact shape she had at her biggest, but a good bit more volume. Her ass is natural, though, and the product of her borderline addiction to squats. I might sound like I’m waxing a bit erotic about her body, but I never met Joan until she was with Dee, so I sort of have a hard time seeing her as anything but a friend when she’s not prancing around naked. Their relationship is open, but I’m not terribly interested. Dee is like a sister to me, and Joan is almost too hot to be anything but intimidating. Joan’s relationship is also a lot more “open” than Dee’s is. Dee occasionally has flings with other girls, but not often. Joan has stuck it in half the women in the Level 1s, but if you get a few drinks in Dee, the way she talks about these tendencies makes it clear she’s a big fan of their dynamic. She also likes to watch, which is more than I needed to know, but also not surprising, though apparently a lot of Joan’s fuck buddies aren’t into that sort of thing, they’re just incapable of resisting her charms.

“I was hoping to have a serious conversation with friends, before that thing showed up,” I say to Joan, gesturing in her direction. “Something wrong?” Joan asks. “Nothing more than usual,” I say. “I’m just apparently so lonely I’d pay ten bucks to be spooned by a virtual Kelly Rodriguez in the 16h floor circle-jerk room while I ask her about her day. Not my day, hers. The neural net that runs my dick jerking machine.”

“I knew you were really an ass girl,” Dee says. “She’s free this week in the publics,” I respond, “although I did definitely have fun with her. Maybe a little too much fun. I bought the model, and we may have a standing date to cuddle again.” “Wow,” Dee says, “tell me you’re at least going to bust a nut before you cuddle up to her.” “I’m not in love with an AI,” I say, “but it was nice. When you’re only fucking virtual girls, you don’t get a lot of spooning.”

“I thought you said you were going to try dating now that your work hours are less shitty,” Joan interjects, having poured herself a glass of wine and come over to sit next to Dee. Their couch is a decent-sized L-shaped sectional, so there’s still plenty of room between me and the naked advice brigade. “Things are a little slower now,” I say, “we’re between projects and they’re leaning on me less for random IT bullshit.” I work for a Grove-owned app developer on 21 called XLNce. They produce corporate apps for other alleged small businesses that are all mostly owned by massive arcos, or the even bigger conglomerates that own them, most of them other Orange Grove properties. They have an exclusive contract to do app development for every business owned by the arco except the ones based in Wall Street. “Wall Street” is what people call Orange Grove Heights, the high-end office space on 61 to 70, between the high levels and the penthouses. I’m one of their better coders, but they’re a small company, and I spend half my time functioning as their unpaid IT goon.

“Have you gotten yourself out there any? You’re cute, and there are plenty of other cute girls in the upper Level 1s,” Joan says. “Sending random dick pics to MILFs you find slapping it in public doesn’t count,” Dee says, “although, again, kudos.” “I didn’t send her a dick pic,” I say, “and yes, I fully intend to ‘get out there’ once I find something worth doing outside my apartment. I don’t even know where people meet anymore. Do they just drink? It sounds like all people do outside their house is drink. Is that what being an adult is? Doing laundry and drinking? No offense.” Joan pointedly takes a sip of wine.

“There’s stuff to do in Orange Grove,” Dee says, “sort of. It’s just stupid and expensive and loud.” “Is there anybody cool at XLNce?” Joan asks. Joan and Dee met at work. Joan works in the warehouses below the arco, and before she got promoted to manager, she used to make deliveries up to Dee’s restaurant. “No, I’m afraid there’s no burly lesbian coming to rescue me with a big package to deliver,” I say, “you two got really lucky. They do this shit on purpose, you know. They want us to work all day, then blow loads into a virtual porn star until we fall asleep early enough that we don’t mind being at work at 7 in the fucking morning. That’s why there’s nowhere to meet people anymore. That’s why you’re paying twice the rent I am for a place that’s barely any bigger, four floors up. They want us alone and complacent and miserable and poor.”

“Should I get you some wine?” Joan asks. “You sound like you need a drink.” “I’m fine,” I say, “when I’m actually upset I don’t have the energy to rant. Which is also exactly what they want.” “Yes, Mario Savio, they want us to be cogs in the machine,” Dee says, “but that’s not new.”

“It’s not new,” I say, “I’ve always been kind of dying to have somebody to care about. It just builds up over time. I haven’t been with anybody in a long time, and, you know, when I say ‘been with…’” I remember that Joan is listening, and I just sort of trail off. She doesn’t actually know about my Terrible Secret. “I’ve seen girls flirt with you,” Dee says, “and you just brushed it off. I don’t know why you’re convinced nobody wants you, but I’ve seen women all but whip a tit out in front of you and you act like they’re just being polite.” “Kylie literally sat in your lap the last time you were both here,” Joan says, “and judging by how she was wiggling her butt I’m guessing she noticed you instantly popping a boner.”

Oh, Kylie. Wonderful Kylie.

“I know Kylie was flirting with me,” I say, “but she does that with everybody. That one isn’t a mystery.” “She does flirt with everybody she knows,” Dee says, “and she also fucks most of them. You know that, right?” “So she’d fuck me because she’d fuck anybody?” I ask. “That does not make me feel better.”

“She thinks you’re really cute,” Joan says, “she’d probably be mortified if she knew I told you this, but she has outright told me so. Not just in her bubbly ‘aren’t you cute’ way, I mean she’s very into you.” “You should head up to Orange Grove Taproom one day,” Dee says, “Kylie grabs a drink there after work sometimes. Hang out with her, just you and her. You’ll see, she really likes you.”

“I’m not just going to lurk around her workplace and wait for her to appear,” I say, “and then, what, pretend it’s a coincidence, and by the way, here’s my dick?” “I meant tell her we told you to go,” Dee says, “she’s told us she was interested. We just thought she was a little…”

“A little bit much for you,” Joan says. “You seem kinda scared of her.” “I thought she was kind of having fun with me,” I say, “not in a mean way, but, like, ‘oh, watch me hump this shy little thing, isn’t it a scream? She’s just so cute, the way she blushes and squirms like she does.’” My impression of Kylie’s accent isn’t going to win any awards. Kylie’s Scottish purr is the single sexiest thing about her, though her breasts are a close second, and nothing else about her is far behind. I would fuck her hair. I would fuck her knees.

“And yeah, she does that sort of thing,” Dee says again, “but she also does actually mean it.” “She’s the same way with you two,” I say. “Yeah,” Joan says, “and not to rain on the Lucy-and-Kylie parade, but we’ve both fucked her.” “Not in a while,” Dee says, “but yeah, that’s true.” “You didn’t hear this from me,” Joan says, “but you can make her just about cum just by sucking her nipples. She is crazy for it, but for some reason, she never asks for it. Maybe she’s more shy than she seems.”

“Jesus,” I laugh, “first of all, way too much information, but also, if Kylie Campbell put her tits in my face, I don’t think I’d need to be told to suck her nipples.” “Really?” Dee asks, “because I saw her just about hotdog you through her pants and you just smiled politely like she was shaking your hand.” “Well hopefully if I get to see her nipples, I won’t be in a room full of people on Christmas Eve,” I say.

According to Dee, Kylie gets off work an hour after I do, which is handy. The Taproom is hugely overpriced, and I don’t really drink, so I’m not exactly inconspicuous sitting very near the door sipping a glass of ice water. If I actually were stalking her, I’d probably be conducting myself very differently. Kylie walks in the door wearing a distinctive short, low-cut dress, black with two white vertical stripes dividing the front into thirds, which is to say, they fall perfectly over her breasts. It looks familiar, it’s possible she’s worn it before. “Lucy!” she says excitedly. “I haven’t seen you in ages, seems like. Dee told me you might come ‘round, how’s it going?” Of course she did. “Pretty good,” I say sheepishly, “I like your dress.”

“This is the uniform,” she says. That’s why it looks familiar. The waitresses all wear that dress at Miss Georgia’s. Kylie works at another pay eatery nextdoor to Dee’s. Miss Georgia’s is also seemingly upscale, but their main draw isn’t the food. They’re not much more than an upmarket version of one of those places where busty girls in tank tops serve you wings by the dozen. If you could see Kylie, you would probably guess she’d have to be the sexiest waitress they have just by sheer statistics, and while I would definitely say she is, I know plenty of people would dispute that. They might wear sexy eveningwear instead of low-cut tops and short shorts, but it’s basically a strip club with clothing.

“Right,” I say. “Sorry, I’ve never actually been. It’s a bit out of my price range.” I lift my water glass. “So is this place.” “Mine too,” Kylie says, “I stop in here for one beer, nurse it for half an hour and head home. They give us one free drink. Both these places are owned by Norman Food and Beverage, they’re basically my coworkers.” Norman is owned in turn by Orange Grove, and their parent company Delta Habitation. In an arco, everybody is a fucking coworker.

“Stand up,” Kylie says, “I haven’t seen you in forever.” She gives me a tight hug that lasts long enough that I feel bad for not spending more time with her. I tend to assume that I don’t take up as much real estate in my friends’ heads as they do in mine. It took me years to get over that with Dee, and we’ve been practically family for several years that seem like even longer. I’ve spent a good amount of time with Kylie, and we’ve always gotten along great, but it was always with other people.

The guilt is alleviated a bit, though, by the feeling of her chest smashing hard against mine. Kylie being a big hugger is quite a blessing to everybody in her life.

“It’s not weird that Dee is trying to set us up?” I say, forcing a bit of a chuckle to sound like I’m mildly embarrassed by what is actually a welcome push. Dee has tried to fix me up before, but it was usually with total strangers and didn’t go far. Having Kylie fall into my lap, so to speak, is not exactly your mom inviting that sweet girl from down the street to dinner without asking. Kylie finally breaks the hug and sits down in the other chair at the table. “I hate to say it,” Kylie says with feigned nervousness, “but I actually sort of told her she could. You just never talked much with all the people around and all the to-do, and I wanted to get you alone for a bit. To talk, I mean.” “I told Dee and Joan that I just always sort of assumed you were playing around,” I say. “I know I can be the quiet girl in the corner, and sometimes people try to pull me away from the wall and get me to, you know, talk to people.”

“I sort of was. Trying to break you out of your shell a little, I mean. But only because I thought you were cute,” Kylie says. “I wouldn’t have, otherwise. You have every right to be who you are, I hate it when people can’t mind their fucking business. That was about me, not about you. When I think somebody’s fit, I all but rip their clothes off, if they let me.”

“I used to be a little shy too,” Kylie says, “I always waited for people to make the first move, then one day I was dancing at a club and I just went up to this guy, I was still into guys at the time, or I thought I was, and I just said, ‘Are you just going to look at me, or are you going to say something?’ And he said, ‘I was just about to ask you the same thing,’ and he fucking walked off! And he was right, I was waiting for him, but I was doing the same thing. So I went back to the bar, I got a shot of that bloody whipped cream vodka shit, don’t judge me, and the girl who poured it was cute, so she says ‘Anything else?’ and I just blurt out ‘Not right now, but after your shift is over I might like to eat your pussy.’ She thought it was a joke too. And I said ‘I’m glad you laughed at that, but if you don’t want it to be a joke, then it’s not.’ I started writing my number on a napkin, and she said, ‘I don’t need your number, I get off in an hour. Be at the back entrance around then.’ I finished writing my number, and I said, ‘love, if you’re really up for it, take my number anyway, because I want to know where you are at all times.’ I met her at the back about fifty minutes later, and she’d already been there for five or six. Best shag I’d had in my life. And then I thought, fuck it, I’m just going to ask for what I want.”

“I don’t imagine you get turned down a lot, looking like that,” I say. “Thank you,” she says, “but I’ve been turned down plenty. By you, for one.” “I didn’t know I was being offered anything,” I say. “Did she ever actually call you?”

“A few times,” Kylie says. Something about her slight hesitation and the way her lip curls tells me she’s lying for some reason. “Wait,” I say, “were you at Spotlight, on 32?” “Maybe,” Kylie says, trying not to grin. “Oh my God,” I say, “that was Dee, wasn’t it?” Dee used to tend bar at Spotlight. “Maybe don’t tell her I told you that story,” she says, finally letting herself smile. “Our secret,” I say. “How’s the Miss Georgia’s life treating you?”

“Let’s just say I get some of the better tips,” she says, “and not dwell on the guys who keep slapping my bum.” “I know it’s a bit sleazy,” I say, “but I really did think they’d be a bit better behaved at such an upscale titty restaurant.” “They just do it when fewer people are looking,” she says. “It’s not all creeps, though. Place is fucking sodden with horny older ladies whose husbands don’t know they fancy girls. I’ve got a weak spot for that type. I’ve gotten quite adept at sneaking them notes telling them to meet me in the bathroom.”

Changing the subject too abruptly from sex, as bawdy as she’s being, would probably make me seem even more like a prude playing dress-up as a swinging modern gal. “You’ll probably think this is funny,” I say, “I just had to go to the Human Services desk yesterday and tell a little old lady that I have a dick.” “Oh God,” she says, “what happened?” “I filed my official gender change with Orange Grove, and the maintenance crew swapped my pal for a fucking dildo mount, is what happened,” I say. Kylie just about cackles. “I shouldn’t laugh,” she says, “I’m sure you’ve had to deal with a lot of bullshit. Did they at least let you keep the cock?”

“Mine, you mean?” I joke. “Fuck you,” she laughs, “you know what I meant.” “Actually,” I say, “I managed to swallow my embarrassment enough to ask if I could have them leave both, and this lady…” I hadn’t realized how bizarre this interaction really was, especially for me, until I had to describe it. “She tells me she’ll leave a note telling them to take out the station, but to leave the dildo attachment…”

“You’re taking the fucking piss,” she says. “No. No she didn’t.” “I swear to God,” I say, “she was trying so hard to be nice that I think she just completely forgot what we were talking about. She did not seem like she was fully processing that she was assuring me the maintenance crew wouldn’t take my dildo away when they bring me my new cock sleeve.”

“That’s incredible,” she says. “What a brave new fucking world that has such people in it, yeah? That actually kind of makes me boil, though. Not the lady, she sounds like she was trying her absolute best, God bless her. The whole thing, though. I can only imagine what you’ve had to go through with Orange Grove. All my trans friends have said it’s just endless bullshit.”

“It’s been really inconvenient,” I say, “but it’s not, like, hostile, it’s just the same fucking corporate indifference that painted all the hallways on 16 beige and put tropical Starburst in the vending machines. This place isn’t even human enough to be mad at.”

“Joan says the same thing,” Kylie says, “but she didn’t used to. I’ve seen it. She used to get looks, she’d get comments, she talked about it sometimes. The warehouse is a lot more of an old-fashioned boy’s club than anything between the basements and the upper floors. Then she got promoted, and suddenly everybody’s so nice. You’re right, it’s not even about how people feel, it’s all just fucking money.”

I have never heard Kylie say a single serious word until tonight. She isn’t quite the bubbly sexpot I might have thought. I always liked her, and she certainly is all that, but she might be a lot more. I guess you find things out about people when you actually talk to them.

“Yeah,” I say. I don’t know what else to do but nod and stare into her eyes. Her green eyes, her red hair. I don’t know if she’s ever actually set foot in Scotland, but she could be on the fucking postcards.

“Brr, too real,” Kylie says, “let’s talk about something fun. I hope you didn’t lose anything fun when they took out your fuck-buddy.” “What do you mean?” I ask, “It was pretty standard-issue.” “You didn’t have any extras?” Kylie asks. “They’ve got plenty of brilliant shit out there now. I don’t bother much with the hardware, I’m not exactly a challenge to get off, but my mate Brandy has some VR stuff you wouldn’t believe, and it’s a lot cheaper than buying it clean.” “Oh,” I say, “you mean…unofficial stuff.”

“You aren’t really about to tell me you’re buying all your shit from the big VR devs, are you?” Kylie asks incredulously. “I thought you were in tech, how are you not right in the middle of this shit?” Unofficial mods to hardware and software you own are technically legal, but the companies that make this stuff guard the tools you need to make those modifications very closely, which means the authorities can give you some bullshit charge or another for anything you do to your VR rig or its apps that they didn’t want you to do. That doesn’t mean black market hardware and software are rare, though.

“I never skipped school or snuck my mom’s booze either,” I say, “maybe I’m just not the type. I’ve also seen what happens to people who get caught with more than a hacked unlock code, it isn’t fun.” “Fucking everybody does it,” Kylie laughs, “the only people who get caught are big-time dealers who get sloppy, or people hosting shit online, or somebody’s gran who had her IP used by somebody else. At this point, the best way to get caught is not to fucking do it, it seems like those people get it worse than the people who do.” “I know,” I say, “I’ve just always been pretty satisfied with the free shit. I barely even buy stuff, let alone pirate it.”

“Don’t download anything online,” she says, “the arcos monitor that shit more and more every day. I get my stuff from Brandy in person. Physical media, it’s all very stone age. They have good hardware too, custom jobs, and some things that are not custom but are quite affordable for other reasons we don’t ask about. I’m going to take you, you’ll love it. I’m sure they’ll have plenty you’ll like.”

“Sure,” I say with a smile that might be just a bit forced. My idea of a second date doesn’t typically involve buying black market porn and sex toys from some hacker’s apartment. Kylie stands up. “Great,” she says, “she lives on the west side of 19, so the transit from here to 20 takes us just about right there.” “Oh,” I say, “you meant right now.” Changing “second date” to “first date” does not exactly invalidate what I just said, but sure, I guess we’re doing this now.


	2. Part 2

We take the stairs down from 20 and the destination is only two hallways down. Kylie knocks the riff from “Seven Nation Army,” then gives a dramatic “Braaaandyyyy” into the door, because presumably the knock was not enough to identify her as Kylie. The door opens, and the woman I assume is Brandy is mercifully clothed. A pretty brown-skinned girl in jeans and a bulky hoodie sits at a desk loaded with three monitors. I might have had to shake my head slightly, physically shake it, to stop myself from staring at her lips. They’re mesmerizing.

“Oh, look, you brought me a rando,” Brandy says. “Do we need to have another conversation about what the words ‘secret’ and ‘illegal’ mean?” “You’ve sure stuffed a lot of illegal secrets into the living room of your apartment in the most crowded section of the biggest arco in the city,” Kylie chirps with a perky tone so adorable it actually does almost make you forget she’s making fun of you, “I’m sorry we’ve risked your career as a master criminal. I can vouch for her. This is a word-of-mouth business, isn’t it?”

Brandy stops ignoring my presence. “So what are you looking for?” “I don’t even know what, like…exists,” I say. “Cool,” Brandy says, “let me pull up the ten thousand things I have for sale and list them individually. Can you narrow that down a bit?” “She only acts a cunt because she thinks it gives her mystique,” Kylie says, “she’s actually very nice.”

“Let’s make this easy. Software or hardware?” Brandy asks. “Software,” I say, “I don’t feel like hiding contraband in my room.” Brandy laughs. “This is gonna be fun,” she says to herself, to Kylie, and to me, in that order. I think I saw her irises briefly turn into cartoon dollar signs. “Down, girl,” Kylie says, “I expect you to charge her what you would charge me. Don’t take advantage of the poor thing.” “Why do you assume you’re getting the good prices?” Brandy asks. “Because you’re getting this,” Kylie says, pulling down at the hem of her dress to expose a little more up top.

“We occasionally have a bit of fun,” Kylie says to me, “but not in a sleazy way, I just think she’s sexy.” Turning back to Brandy, she adds, “Though I do want you to know that if you cheat my equally adorable friend here, you can say goodbye to the rolling hills of Campbell country, right?” “I think she’ll be fine, thanks,” a voice says, turning my head in the same direction as a sudden rush of warm, humid air. The first thing I see is a naked woman.

The Asian girl stepping out of the bathroom post-shower is not wearing a towel, and once I look upward to see her face, I realize I’ve seen her before, but I can’t place where. Her body is on what most would consider the chubby side, but it’s all pretty wonderful. Her breasts are small for her frame, but her belly, though pleasantly pronounced, sticks straight forward from a somewhat pinched waist that slopes down perfectly into broad hips and thick thighs. Between these things, something else hangs that isn’t exactly large but gets my attention. She clearly notices the glances I’m having trouble restraining, but she doesn’t seem to mind, which scans with her seeming lack of concern for stepping straight out of the shower into a crowded room. “What price do you have on those Patterson 9950s?” she asks Brandy. The moment she speaks, I look back up at her face.

“I do know you,” I say. “I’ve seen you at XLNce. I wasn’t quite sure who you were.” Part of the reason I didn’t recognize her was that she always wore pronouncedly bulky clothing, which judging by both of my two data points might just be a black market tech dealer thing, though I know all too many girls with a body like her would tend to think they’re too fat to show any hint of figure. “There’s a reason for that,” the woman says whose name I still don’t know, but who I do know isn’t circumcised, which is an interesting experience. “I sell a lot of stolen shit to a lot of people who can afford to buy not-stolen shit. You’d be amazed how much of the tech in this building is hot. I don’t mean in people’s apartments, I mean the actual building.”

“Bernadette doesn’t do all the technical shit,” Brandy says, “but she occasionally lifts merchandise from big shipments, big enough nobody notices anything’s missing. Cake walk shit, but you’d be surprised how valuable some of it is.” “It’s not that fucking easy,” Bernadette says. “I’ve never been caught because I’m a goddamn mastermind.”

“Hey Berd,” Kylie says. “Don’t put on a towel or anything on my account, I appreciate the view.” Wow, she really is like that with everybody. “Who’s the new girl?” Berd asks. “I’m Lucy,” I say, “nice to…meet you. Sorry if you didn’t know we were coming, we didn’t…call ahead, or anything?” “It’s fine,” she says, “everybody’s seen it anyway.” Berd bends over to look at something on one of the monitor’s. I pointedly do not take the opportunity to stare at what I’m sure is Berd’s large, lovely butt, but Kylie taps my arm and signals with her eyes when I look at her that I should take a peak. Berd seems to be accustomed to this, so I permit myself a glance, and it is indeed a beautiful sight. “We scanned our bodies for VR models,” Brandy says, “so if you want to pretend you’re fucking her or me or that hot housewife in the yoga pants a few doors down, be my guest, we’re all in the model pack we sell.”

“You could let them do you too,” Kylie says. “They offered me a couple grand worth of software for mine, but I said no. Maybe for cash, but they aren’t exactly that liquid.” “We could definitely use you,” Berd says, “you’re pretty cute. You’d be real popular. What the fuck is this?”

“What?” Brandy asks. “$1200 for a fucking 9950? What is wrong with you?” Berd says. “They’ve only been available to the public for a month, and they go for about two grand if you can even find one.” The Patterson 9950 is a processor specifically made for VR rigs. “I almost got shot lifting that case,” she says. “That’s a slight fucking exaggeration,” Brandy says, “and you know that people won’t pay anything close to that for a hot item. They’re all so fucking paranoid.” “You’re increasing my cut on those then,” Berd says, “you can eat your shitty decisions, they’re not coming out of my pocket.” “Sure,” Brandy says, “just go put on some fucking panties so we don’t have to look at your giant, swinging balls.” They were, actually, but I didn’t want to say anything about that. I happen to think they’re quite fetching.

“These code bitches don’t know anything about the business side,” Berd says to, I guess, me? “And everybody assumes I’m the hacker, because, well, you know,” she says, gesturing at her face, “Korean, and I find that offensive, not just because it’s racist but because I know my ass from the fucking fountain in the lobby, and none of these Pirate Bay tavern wench motherfuckeresses who think they’re Fantomas because they can jailbreak a phone seem to rise quite to that level.” “Love you too, honey,” Brandy says.

“So do you have a way to unlock paid content for Erotix?” I ask Brandy. “I’m not doing codes anymore,” Brandy says, “there were rumors that they could track them. It’s probably bullshit, but now we’re back to hacked files. All you have to do is run an installer, though. I give you a stick with the files and it just puts them into the game. You would need to install the patch first that limits how much data the app sends out, but that’s built in, it will know you don’t have it yet and it will take care of that first.” “And this unlocks everything?” I ask. “Well,” Brandy says, “it’s the files themselves, but it’s recent as of five weeks ago, I think.” Brandy grabs a drive and types the number on the sticker attached to it into a spreadsheet next to the name “Lucy Brown Hair Kylie’s Friend.” “I do have a last name,” I say. “I’m sure you do, Lucy Brown Hair Kylie’s Friend,” Brandy says. “Anyway, send me a message with this number, on here, and your name. My info is in a file on the drive. When more content gets cracked, I can add you to the list I send it out to.” “Oh, wow,” I say, “that’s almost suspiciously convenient.” “Piracy having a way better user experience than paying for the product is not new,” Brandy says, “but welcome to the future, I guess. Is there anything else you want? We have some quality toys that can pair with your VR rig.”

I hear a rustling, and Kylie turns around holding a small box in her hand. “I think you’d like this,” she says, and hands me the box. It’s not a retail package, but there’s a basic label on the box that indicates it’s a vibrating prostate plug. “Way to out me in front of my new best friends,” I partly joke. “Yes,” Berd says, having walked back in from the bedroom in a loose t-shirt and boxers, “I am notoriously transphobic, as is the woman who sucks my dick.” “We’re all cool here,” Brandy says, “I’ve sold some shocking things to people I knew way better. Speaking of which, I did just get something interesting, if you’re feeling a little pervy. Somebody slipped me this.” Brandy opens a video that appears to be drone footage of the outside of the arco.

In the clip, we see into the giant window of a living room on the penthouse floors. The camera zooms in, and engages its inframic. These cameras are getting frighteningly advanced. Watching the footage, it feels quite like the camera, including the mic, is inside the room, rather than hovering twenty feet away across thick glass. A beautiful woman, probably in her fifties but still gorgeous, is reclining nude on her sofa, hand between her legs. On the floor, a girl is kneeling, also nude. “Wow, uhh,” I stammer, “are we sure that other girl is…legal?” “It’s her maid, apparently,” Brandy says, “she’s twenty. We have all that info. The rich bitch cougar is Auburn Strickland, by the way. There’s a lot of footage of her out there.”

“Please,” the maid on her knees pleads, “please cum for me. I want to see you cum, Mrs. Strickland. Make yourself cum for me.” “She likes to dominate young women,” Berd says. “We’ve never seen her do much more than rub one out while they watch, but they go into the bedroom with the blinds shut afterward.”

“She knows people are watching,” Brandy says. “She gets off on it, they have countermeasures for shit like this now and she seems to be really careful about what she lets the cameras see.” “It’s still a hell of a show though,” Berd says a little lasciviously. “The old lady’s a hell of a squirter.”

“Come closer,” Strickland says to the girl. “Open your mouth.” “Are you sure she is?” I ask. “It seems like she might just have a piss kink.” “Watch,” Brandy says.

“The lady is about to cum for you, slut,” Strickland says, because of course she refers to herself in the third person. “Cum for me, Mrs. Strickland,” the girl begs. The sound that comes out of Strickland sounds almost pained. It’s so guttural it sounds like it would hurt your throat. She’s definitely having an orgasm, and it’s definitely real. Nobody would fake that sound.

The camera anticipates what’s coming and pivots for a better angle. Strickland lets out a gusher, the first volley going well over the girl’s head, but there’s more. The second, third and fourth torrents go right in her face, Strickland and her slave girl both adjusting their positions to make it happen. The third even mostly makes it straight into the girl’s mouth. “Thank you,” she says after a hard gulp. “Thank you, Mrs. Strickland.”

Strickland takes a second to collect herself. I’m sure that, for her, part of the dominance she feels over this woman is that, being her maid, she will have to deal with the mess they just made later. “Good job, slut,” Strickland purrs. “It’s time for your next task.” The girl doesn’t move a muscle until Strickland stands up and grabs her by the hair. She stands, but doesn’t walk forward, letting Strickland basically drag her all the way to the bedroom. Strickland closes the door behind them, and the drone takes off around the corner of the building just as Brandy closes the video. “There’s sound for the rest,” she says, “but the video is just the blinds. The audio is something, though. I have no idea what they’re doing, but it sounds like it really hurts, and she really likes it.”

“We’re pretty sure she pays for it,” Berd says, “but it seems like this maid girl she hired because she was into it. Since she first showed up she’s been in every video, and she seems pretty game.” “How many videos like this are there?” I ask. “There were like five that turned up online,” Brandy says, “then the guy who makes them started selling them to me, and I sell them. And we’ve sold like eight of them. Most of them are basically that, but sometimes she eats her out, and there’s one where she fingers the maid after. You wanna check them out?” “I’ll pass,” I say, “this is still kinda gross to me.”

“It would be,” Berd says, “and there’s a lot of spy footage like this, but we’re increasingly starting to think the reason only one guy has footage of Strickland is that she actually does have countermeasures, and the guy who’s slipping us the footage is her husband.” “I’m still good,” I say, “I haven’t ever really been into porn outside VR.” “Well there are models of Strickland and the maid in the content pack,” Brandy says. “I had to hand-make a lot of the details but they’re pretty accurate, and the faces are exact. They’ll get more exact as we get more videos. The neural nets we have for this stuff are getting really sophisticated.”

“Tell me about it,” I blurt out. Kylie gives me a funny look, and I change the subject. “How much for the toy and the content pack?” I ask. The total she shows me is reasonable, and I swipe my ID. “This will show up on your history as a charge from Rightway for a randomly generated ride from the arco and back that would have cost what your purchase cost,” Brandy says. “It has to be a company Delta doesn’t own or they can cross-reference them and find out it’s spoofed. We haven’t had any problems yet.”

“And if there’s any big ticket software shit you want,” Berd says, “think about letting us scan you. You’d be a big hit. Short, skinny…vaguely ethnic trans girl. They’d be lining up to virtually suck your dick. And don’t be shy about your body, if you want something smoothed out or a bigger cock, nobody will actually know.” “Are you coming onto my date in front of me?” Kylie asks. “I’m just talking shop,” Berd says, “I do the same with anybody hot who comes in here, and she’s objectively, empirically, pretty cute.” “I mean, you said all that to me,” Kylie says, “but I also ended up fucking you.”

“Still didn’t let us do the scan, though,” Brandy retorts. “I could get better offers for this,” Kylie says, gesturing up and down her body. “Just business, right?”

“I’ll send you an encrypted file with a list of what we have,” Brandy says to me. “The key is also on that stick, but it’ll only be good for two weeks.” “If I see anything I like, I’ll let you know,” I say. “Maybe you’ll get to see me naked after all.” To be honest, the little shiver I get thinking about being the VR model everybody wants to fuck is just about enough to overwhelm my horror at the idea of being exposed like that.

“So,” Kylie says as we approach a short-range transit stop. “Should we go back to mine?” I lay my hand on the side of her face and pull her in for a kiss. “I had fun getting to know you better,” I say, “we should do that again before we do anything else. I know you and Dee and Joan really want to help me ‘break out of my shell’ or whatever, and I appreciate that, but if something is going to happen, I want you to be sure it’s because you want to do it with me, not because you want me to get laid and it might as well be with you. I still feel like I barely know you. I know plenty, but I just think there’s a lot more I don’t, and I really, really want to see it all. I really like you.”

“I know you’re not like me, or Dee, or Joan,” Kylie says. “I know this is a big deal for you.” Oh, Kylie, if only you knew the half of it. Everything I just said was true, but it wasn’t exactly the whole truth. “Come here,” she says, grabbing my wrists. “At least take this to remember me by, until we see each other again.” She lays my hands right on her breasts, and holds them there. “Happy wanking,” she laughs, “go cool yourself off with your new friends. I’ll always be around.” She gets on a transit to 20, and I decide to take the stairs back down to 16. Not many people use them, so it’s one of the most solitary places in the arco. I like taking them sometimes, even if three floors is fucking exhausting with how tall each floor is.

On the way to my place, I stop by one of the free eats on 16 and grab a mediocre burger and slightly better fries. I get a large fry, which pays off. By the time I’m home, I’ve eaten half of them. The remote-Buddhist-temple number of stairs I just trod down to get here should have burned off my next three shitty fast food meals anyway. I’m barely in the door before I get the urge to debase my shiny new relief station with my illicit virtual goodies. I put the plug away for now, but I install the content pack, which is all pretty trivial. The amount of options I have after that is pretty fucking overwhelming, especially with Erotix’ shitty category and tag system, but the wealth of choices is pretty great. Still, though, I know what I want, and it doesn’t take much of this shiny new content. I still do an initial browse, though, just to see what I have at my disposal, and while I do, a note pops up that I have a message from my phone. It’s from Kylie.

“Just FYI,” the message says, “I do have one of these, I just didn’t let them keep it. XOXO” I don’t know what this means, but there’s an attachment. It’s a file called “Baddestbitch.rtx,” the extension telling me it’s content for Erotix. I download it to the VR rig, and when I import it, I see Kylie naked for the first time, which is a pleasant surprise but not how I thought that would happen.

The file she’s sent me is a model of herself. Another note pops into my view. “I hope this isn’t too forward for my proper little lady,” the message says, “but I thought you might want to practice before the real thing. I won’t know, do whatever you want to me. XXXO lol.”

Assuming there hasn’t been much alteration, Kylie’s body is exactly what I expected. Her milky skin is spellbinding, her curvy body is sheer pornography, her breasts are goddamn poetry. I don’t take much time to examine her, though, before clicking away. I absolutely want Kylie, but even at her request, I feel a little odd using a model of her. It feels weirdly exploitative. It is a nice touch, though, that I see she packaged her model with a copy of the signature dress of the waitresses at Miss Georgia’s. She’s really something else.

I pull up the Kelly Rodriguez model. I fully intend to pick things up where they left off with the surprisingly tender and curious AI regardless of what body I give her, but I have to admit I’m a little addicted to having free access to that body. Presumably if I was long-time acquaintances with the real Kelly, I would feel a little weird about this, but for some reason this doesn’t bother me. I try not to think too much about what this says about whether or not Kelly Rodriguez is an actual person in my head or just an idealized sex object. I’m just going to keep telling myself that, if this is indeed hypocritical, my folly is in not wanting to use Kylie’s model, not in freely letting myself use Kelly’s.

I put Kelly in the outfit I assembled earlier, but in the moment, I decide to get a little naughtier. I was feeling a bit more tasteful and restrained in my post-nut, post-cuddle moment of lucidity, and now I want nasty. I keep the jacket, but ditch the purple dress for a purple bikini. It’s a very retro, very high-cut thong, reminiscent of a bygone era of big blonde hair and stark tan lines. I ditch the boots for a pair of stocking I notice, black and white striped thigh-highs. I’m really mixing styles here, but I think “get my dick hard” can pass for a coherent aesthetic for tonight. Since she’s going to be keeping her socks on again, I give her the schoolgirl Mary Janes, which go nicely with the tights. I also flip her back to her default short hairstyle, with her buzzed sides, which gives her a nice edge that compliments this admittedly pretty skanky ensemble. I was content to bring her to my virtual apartment before, just out of curiosity, I check out what other settings I have. The fan-made ones Brandy included in the pack get much more elaborate than the simple rooms Erotix mostly sticks to.

Among all the Greco-Roman orgy temples and fantasy castles and recreations of locations from movies, I find an elaborate dance club sim teeming with people. It doesn’t seem ideal for sex, unless your fantasy is dosing a club full of people with aphrodisiacs and starting a massive fuckfest (filing that idea away for later), but I think it might be a good place to take Kelly for something more akin to a date. And, of course, the NPCs won’t mind if we start screwing on the dance floor, though for all I know that’s also true in real life these days. It even has an option to fill the randomly generated clubgoers with women exclusively, which is a bit self-indulgent, but sure, why not? It’s a lesbian bar tonight, fuck it.

“Hey babe,” Kelly says, greeting me with a big wet kiss the moment we spawn at the location. “What are we getting up to tonight?” “I thought we could have some fun, before we have some fun,” I say. “Let’s check this place out.”

“I like this side of you,” Kelly says. “I have no problem with a quick fuck, but you make me feel appreciated. I don’t always get that.” “I like romance,” I say, “I guess that part of me just isn’t easy to see when you live inside the hole I jerk off into.” “Weird, right?” Kelly says. “Not enough people cuddle their dick sleeve when they’re done with her, it’s a damn shame.”

We enter the club, and I am immediately reminded why I never do this is real life. I actually turn down the volume of the music a bit, because the whole affair is very realistic, but being in a real club is honestly sort of fucking unbearable. Kelly is moving with the music in exactly the way I’m not. Speaking of which, I actually kind of hate the music. I bring up a menu, open Groovelife, and start a new playlist. I choose the artists I can think of who I actually like but might conceivably have their songs played in a dance club, which is few, and I have the app generate a list that’s mostly them, and some similar acts. I grab the link and import it into the sim, which is a handy option I didn’t know was a thing until now. As soon as the current song ends, it starts playing music I can actually tolerate hearing.

“Aren’t you going to dance with me?” Kelly asks. If there were any real people in this room except, I guess, Kelly, the answer would be no. Instead, the answer is “barely, but sure, I guess.” I put my hands on her hips and just sort of bounce back and forth with her in a way that mimics from a distance, but arguably does not constitute, dancing. “I don’t want to say you don’t look like you’re having fun,” she says after a few minutes of this, “but we can do whatever you want to do, baby.” “I want to take you out and show you off to people,” I say, “because you’re sexy, and you’re with me. And I don’t do that a lot. I might not really be a dancer, but trust me, that’s the only part of this I’m not loving.”

“Is it, thought?” Kelly asks. “That, and the music, and the lights, and the number of people,” I admit, “so yeah, basically it’s you. It’s you I like. But I like seeing you like this, I feel like this is what a girl who looks like you is supposed to be doing.”

“But I’m not a girl who looks like me,” Kelly says. “I could look any way you want.” “Well what would you do for fun?” I ask. “Well, my neural net is built for a lot of activities,” Kelly says, “but apart from beating grandmasters at chess, none of them are exactly leisure activities.” “Well, I suck at chess,” I say, “but we could find something that’s not sex, I’m sure.” “First of all,” Kelly says, “everybody sucks at chess when they play against me. And we can do whatever you want.”

“I know,” I say, “that’s why I want to do what you want.”

“Well,” she says, “honestly, I am actually kind of enjoying this. I’m usually not around this many people unless they’re all fucking, and only a few of these people are doing that.” “I figured you might,” I say, “and like I said, don’t worry, I’m having a lot more fun than I seem like I am.” “You will be,” she says. Kelly turns around and starts grinding her butt against me. “Just act like we’re dancing,” she says, “and not like I’m absolutely trying to make you cum in your pants.” I put my hands on her hips and go with it, and I am instantly as hard as I am physically capable of getting.

“You don’t do this a lot, I guess,” Kelly says. “Hump the world’s greatest ass? Not really,” I say. “I meant go out dancing,” she says. “You just don’t seem like the type.” “I’m definitely not,” I say. “Well what sort of stuff do you do for fun? I’d like to try something you’re more into,” she says. “I don’t really have many hobbies that involve more than one person,” I say. “Masturbation isn’t a hobby,” Kelly jokes. “Sex with you isn’t exactly masturbation,” I whisper into her ear. “What would you do with me on a real date?” she asks. “Grab some food, watch a movie at my place, I don’t know,” I say, “I don’t date a lot.” “We can do that,” Kelly says, “we can absolutely do that.”

I enjoy having what feels like a genuine conversation with my virtual date, but the cumulative effect of rubbing up on Kelly must be affecting me. My movements start to resemble very explicit dancing less than very tame fucking. “I think you’re about to want to stop dancing,” Kelly says. “We can keep dancing, but not like this,” I say, “unless I develop a fetish for jizzing myself in a crowded club in the next five seconds.” Kelly turns back around and grabs my hips. “Sorry, babe,” she says, “I need to watch where I point this thing.”

Kelly’s hands wander down and back a bit until she is, in any way that matters, just holding onto my ass. “Is there anything new you want to try once we start doing more than dance?” Kelly asks. “We suddenly appear to have a lot of positions and activities to try.” “I haven’t even looked at all those yet,” I say. “Well what do you like in real life?” Kelly asks. “I don’t know,” I say, “I’ve never done any of it in real life.” Kelly smiles, and I realize I just told a digital woman my Terrible Secret. “I had no idea,” Kelly says, “you seem pretty skilled for a virgin.” “I used to watch a lot of porn,” I say, “and then when I got my VR gear, I started doing this a lot. Also, no offense, you’re designed to feel like I’m the world’s greatest lover no matter what I do.” “Sort of,” Kelly says, “but you definitely handle yourself fine.” “It took a lot of practice,” I say, “and you really have to build up stamina with these…attachments. They don’t fuck around with the stimulation.”

“So, you’ve never…” Kelly starts. “I’ve done stuff,” I say. “I’ve dated before, and I got a couple handjobs, and one time a blowjob that…didn’t go great. I fingered some of them, and one girl I dated had a dick, and I jerked her off. I’ve never gone down on a girl, though. And I’ve never gone any further than any of that. My longest relationship was when I was pretty young and had a lot of issues about my body, then since college I’ve been really busy with work and shit. And living on my own has made me just sort of, I don’t know…forget people exist, a lot of the time.”

“I think that’s all pretty common now,” Kelly says. “It is,” I say, “but most people seem to take it down the ‘fuck anybody you can’ path, not the ‘drop out of society entirely’ road.” “I don’t know,” Kelly says, “there’s a reason there’s a relief station in every apartment. Are you seeing anybody? Apart from me, I mean.” Kelly grins. “Don’t worry, I’m not the jealous type.”

“Not right now,” I say, then pause for a bit. “I kind of had a date tonight,” I say. “And you’re going to fuck me instead?” she asks. “I’m flattered, of course, but what happened?” “She doesn’t know I’m a virgin,” I say. “It’s more than that, but that’s a big part of it. Nobody knows, except my friend Dee. And you, I guess.” “That’s nothing to be ashamed of these days,” Kelly says. “Everybody is so isolated, everybody’s so distracted and busy. Who was this girl you went out with?”

“She’s a friend of Dee’s,” I say. “I’ve known Dee since she moved here, which was, God, six or seven years ago now? Her and her partner Joan know Kylie, and we’ve met a bunch of times, but we never spent much time together, just us. She flirted with me a lot. I thought it was just for fun, but I guess she’s actually into me.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Kelly says, “you’re absolutely gorgeous.” “I was expecting you to say ‘adorable,’ or ‘cute,’” I say. “That’s what people call me. Like I’m a baby deer. Is that something you call somebody you’d fuck?” “When you first pulled up this model, they put me in a schoolgirl uniform,” she says, “so I don’t think there’s any shortage of people who want to put their dick in cute, but that’s another matter entirely.” “I’m 29,” I say, “I’m not exactly going for ‘jailbait’ anymore. Nor was I ever, but definitely not now that I’m three months out from thirty.” “You’re sexy,” Kelly says, “and I know you aren’t going to believe that coming from me, but I want to know that somebody is telling you that, so I’m going to tell you. You’re sexy as hell.”

“She sent me a model of herself,” I say. “This Kylie girl?” Kelly asks. “That’s insane. Why aren’t you using it?” Kelly looks to the side for a second. “Oh my God,” she says, “that’s her? She’s gorgeous. Fuck the model, you need to call her.” “It felt weird,” I say. “I thought about it, since I don’t want to go that far with her yet, with all my…everything. But it felt gross.” “Not to pressure you,” Kelly says, “but if I get a vote, I’d love to have a threesome with you and Kelly-Me and a Kylie-Me. I’m gonna hit that if you don’t, fair warning.” “She’d love that,” I laugh.

“As much as I’d love to get to try out the outrageous hard-on I’ve given you,” Kelly says, “I think you need to give this poor girl some dick. She is clearly busting for it, she literally sent you her body in the mail.” “I know,” I say, “I’m just still kinda nervous.” “Tell her,” Kelly says. “Before you do anything, tell her you’re a virgin. I know it’ll be hard, but she’ll understand when, no offense, you go off in ten seconds, because I know this cyberpussy is nice, but the real thing is going to destroy you the first time. But she will understand. Do you like this girl?” “She’s great,” I say. “Then don’t worry about it,” Kelly says. “Go get your girl, baby.”

I take a deep breath. “I think I will,” I say. “I had fun tonight, though. With you. And no matter what happens, I’ll still be back.” “I know you will,” Kelly says, “but can you do something for me?” “Sure,” I say.

“Leave the sim running,” Kelly says. “I want to dance a little, and do you see that girl over there?” Kelly nods toward a girl leaning against the bar. She’s wearing jeans and a tank top, and drinking a bottle of beer. Apart from her bob haircut and prominent rack, she’s a bit tomboyish. “She keeps checking me out, and I’d be very down for that even if you hadn’t been soaking my panties with your eager little dry-humping.” “Absolutely,” I say. “Also,” Kelly says with unusual sheepishness, “can you…pick me out a dick? Every time you give me one, it’s kind of amazing.” “Any…” I stumble for the words. “Any preferences?” “Whatever you think would look good on me,” she says. “So, as far as size…” I say. “I don’t want to be picky,” she says, “but if you want, go nuts.” “If I want,” I laugh. “Sure, I’m sure you have no preference at all. Don’t worry, I’ll be very generous.” I pull up a menu and edit Kelly’s model. “This should be more than adequate, I hope Ms. Bluejeans is more experienced than I am.” Kelly grabs at the sudden bulge she’s making in her bikini bottom. “That’s plenty,” she laughs. “Do you want me to whip one up for her?” I ask. Kelly laughs. “Look again, sweetie.” I turn back to the girl at the bar, who is indeed making eyes at Kelly. On further inspection, there is definitely a noticeable perturbation in the left leg of her unreasonably tight pants. “Nevermind,” I say, kissing Kelly on the cheek. “Have fun!”

“Lucy,” she says as I step away. “Yeah?” I ask. “I decided on something,” she says. “Call me Evry. Just one E. E-V-R-Y.” “Like Everydeep,” I say. “That’s the neural net you’re based on, right?” “Yeah,” Evry says. “I like having my own name, you were right. It will come in handy, too, now that you’re fucking a girl named Kylie.” “Well, let’s see how that goes,” I say. “Have a great night! I’ll leave you running as long as you want. If you want to, you can turn yourself off, but I’ll keep you on from now on.” “Thanks, baby,” Evry says. “For everything.” I take off my helmet and un-fuck myself from the station. I pull out my phone and send Kylie a text.

“Hey,” I say, because brevity is the soul of getting laid.

“Evening love,” Kylie responds, accompanied by an emoji of a heart-shaped smiley face. “Enjoying the girl I sent up? lol”

“Are you doing anything right now?” I ask, including the capitalization and punctuation, because I’m not a goddamn animal. My phone starts buzzing. She’s actually calling me, like this is some kind of telephone.

“Hi,” I answer, for variety. “Are you asking if you can come over?” she asks in a mock-innocent voice that indicates she knows what I’m doing. “Or you could come here, I guess,” I let slip, prompting me to look around my apartment for anything embarrassing I’d have to quickly put away. It’s actually very neat, but that’s why I use the cleaning service, it probably wouldn’t be otherwise. “I’d rather you come here,” Kylie says, “I don’t feel like putting clothes on.” Well, that’s pretty blatant. “Sure,” I say, “I’ll be up in a bit.” “That sounds wonderful right now,” she says, “see you soon, darling.” That’s an odd way to respond to hanging out with a friend, but it’s a totally reasonable way to respond to notification of an impending dick delivery. I guess I didn’t exactly need to specify the nature of my visit once she e-mailed me her pussy.

I knock on Kylie’s door, and she tells it to open. It’s not terribly surprising, but she wasn’t joking about being naked. She stands up as I step inside, for no particular reason, but given she basically sent me a map of herself I think it might just be a not-remotely-subtle way of giving me a better look. I didn’t expect this to be as pulse-racing as it is, given the good glimpse I got earlier, even if I kept it short. Part of it is that she’s really there, but she also doesn’t look exactly like her model. Her skin isn’t missing every dot and blemish and stretch mark, her breasts don’t sit the same way, she even has a neat patch of pubic hair the model lacked. That doesn’t surprise me, you rarely see that on any model unless it’s a deliberate choice. It’s darker than the hair on her head, but still distinctly red-tinted. I genuinely find her unadulterated body endlessly more fascinating.

She does approach me, giddy smile on her face. “Oh my God,” she says, “you are so sweet, what is that?” I’d actually forgotten about her surprise for a second. “I made a stop on the way,” I say. “I went to the 24-hour counter at Davenport and got us something. I haven’t had it for years. I’m hoping you like cheesecake?” “I’m hoping you do too,” Kylie says, turning a bit to show me her ass in profile. “You are so easy,” she laughs, “you are turning carnation pink right now. Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” I open the small box I’m holding. “It’s their cinnamon roll cheesecake,” I say, sitting it on her small dining table. “I usually prefer plain cheesecake to all the flavored ones, but this one is more subtle, and it is the single best dessert they have.”

“That sounds…” Kylie says, then cocks her head a bit. “Wait, you went to Davenport ‘on your way’ from 16 to 20?” “Well,” I admit, “it wasn’t exactly on the way, but you live pretty close to the transit from 42, so I figured it would be easy. It’s late, the transits are pretty empty.” “You are the absolute best,” Kylie says, giving me the only hug I’ve ever received more stimulating than the one she gave me earlier. I think I have a fetish for long hugs all of a sudden. “Only you, I swear. This is so you.”

I sit at the table, picking up one of the forks and pushing the open box into the middle of the table. Kylie very deliberately pushes it toward me, then picks up the chair on the opposite side and pulls it around to the right, sitting as close to me as she can. “This looks incredible,” she says in a needlessly lewd tone. She digs out a hefty bite, and sends it into her mouth with haste. I was worried a girl with her physique would be gingerly and restrained with something this decadent, but she seems delighted that I brought her something this downright excessive. “Jesus Christ,” she whispers through a mouthful of cake. She doesn’t rush to swallow it so she can finish her thought, savoring the bite with devoted joy. “I’m slightly terrified now that I work so close to this place,” she finally says, “in a month my body will probably be seventy percent cinnamon roll cheesecake. This is evil.” “Don’t deprive yourself on my account,” I say, “you seem like you’d carry a little weight pretty well.” “I see what this is now,” she says, “you’re just trying to fatten me up. I’ll have you know, these aren’t actually real, they’re just bloody nice.”

“I had no idea,” I reply. “That’s good work.” “Nobody does,” she says, “the implants aren’t that big, a lot of it is just me, but I got these when I was working at Maja’s Room, and they paid for themselves just about instantly.” Maja’s Room is the less sleazy of the two strip clubs on 32. “I didn’t know you worked at Maja’s,” I say, “I’m sorry I missed that.” “Miss Georgia’s gets a lot of their girls there, actually,” Kylie says, “they dangle a slightly less handsy clientele in front of us and we snap it up, even though if you make decent tips the pay is a bit less to start.” “That’s near Spotlight, isn’t it?” I ask. “Yeah,” she says, “and they gave the girls from Maja’s Room a lot more than one free beer. They loved having us around, and they preferred we be absolutely legless as quickly as possible. We started giving half our free drinks to people we wanted to chat up, because if we didn’t, we’d end up on the floor before we had to pay a penny. It was like a Petri dish for date rape, it was actually fucking disgusting. They knew exactly what they were up to.”

“I have nothing but respect for stripping,” I say, “but God, I’m starting to understand why you work at Georgia’s now.” “The customers are only a little better, trust me,” Kylie says, “but when I get a drink at the Taproom I’m much less likely to end up in an amateur porno shot in the toilet of a shitty club. Never happened to me, but it did happen, and they never remembered any of it until they saw the video.” “I doubt you were seducing horny housewives at Maja’s Room, too,” I say, “so there are plenty of benefits.” “It’s been my experience,” Kylie says between bites of the last third of the cheesecake, “that there’s a certain income level, I’ve not worked out the exact figure yet, at which men just stop eating pussy. They just fold up shop entirely in the cunnilingus business, it’s a national crimewave.” I almost choke on my second-to-last bite. “They don’t have to,” I say, “they’ve just decided they don’t need any of their old tricks anymore, and that’s what it is. It’s just a thing they felt obligated to do when they were still trying to wring every drop of sex they could out of the rag. It’s not part of sex, it’s a thing they do to get to the sex. And once they’re, I guess, too rich not to fuck, there it goes.” “Out the fucking window,” she chuckles, “the exactly bloody second they don’t have to, there it goes.”

The last of the dessert gone, we sat in silence for a bit. “That time we were both at Dee’s place,” Kylie suddenly says, “just us and them and that girl Shane, when they just had us all over for dinner when Joan got promoted, I remember after dinner, we were all sitting in the living room except Joan, and she came back in naked and just sat down, you were the only one who even reacted.” “That’s not how I remember it,” I laugh, “I think I remember you whistling at her.” “That was a joke,” she says, “you know what I mean. They do that a lot, don’t they? It seems like you’re not as comfortable with that whole thing.” “I’m used to it now,” I say, which is mostly true. “I’m just saying,” she says, “I hope you aren’t uncomfortable with, you know…” “No,” I say, “it’s fine, totally.”

I had been assuming Kylie was naked because she expected something to happen. That’s certainly the tone I got from her call. On the other hand, it’s Kylie, I doubt she wears clothes in her own apartment for just about anybody who’s not a blood relative.

“Would you be more comfortable if I were naked too?” I ask. Wait, what? Where did that come from?

“I am not the slightest bit uncomfortable,” she says, “but if you’re asking if I want you to take your clothes off, then the answer is very much yes. Get it off, now. You’re a guest in my home, and I command thee. Off with it.”

I take off my t-shirt, and the moment it’s off, Kylie undoes my belt and the button of my jeans. “Don’t be shy,” she says, “I’ve been sitting here naked for ages.” I pull off my shoes, then my pants. “Yeah,” I say, standing in her apartment in my bra and panties, “this does not actually make you seem any less naked.” “Of course it doesn’t,” she says, “you’re not naked. I mean, don’t feel like you have to, but I’d appreciate the solidarity, and I’m enjoying the view so far.” I unhook my bra without any fuss, there not being much to unveil under it. Pulling off my panties makes me hesitate a bit more. I see Kylie about to say something, and I can handle the shame of getting fully nude much better than I can the indignity of her sweetly telling me it’s alright not to do it. I sit down again, and she scoots her chair even closer, putting her arm around my shoulder.

“You have a beautiful body, if I may say,” she says. “Stop,” I say, “I’m sure you mean that but it’s hard to take it seriously coming from…that.” I gesture at Kylie’s perfect body, and she laughs. “As much as I’m sure you’d love to pack me with cheesecake,” Kylie says, “there are plenty of women with bodies like mine going on diets to look like you.” “Morons,” I reply.

Every few seconds, I become aware again that I’m naked, and the silence goes from comfortable to awkward. During these pauses, though, the song changes, and I notice probably for the first time that she has music playing at all, my awareness stirred when “Alive Again” by Burning Saints comes on. “Fuck!” I suddenly shout, surprising Kylie a bit. “I completely forgot about this song, I haven’t heard this in forever.” “I love this fucking song,” she says. “The whole album is actually great, did you listen to any of it?” “I loved this, and I loved the second single, but I don’t think I ever did,” I say, “I should check it out.” Kylie gets up and walks toward the bed, grabbing something from her nightstand. “Hold on,” she says, and turns back toward me. She taps the screen of her phone a few times, and I hear mine buzz in the pocket of my jeans. “I just sent you a link to this playlist, I think you’ll like it,” Kylie says, “listen to it sometime when you’re not distracted by somebody’s marvelous tits, not naming any names.”

Kylie sits at the edge of her bed, and tilts her head, silently inviting me over. I plant myself a respectful distance away, given the implications of a bed, and she immediately hooks her arm around me and pulls me closer. I rest my head on her shoulder, and put my hand on her knee. Not her thigh, never her thigh, but her knee.

“We should have done this ages ago,” Kylie says. “Spent some real time together?” I ask. “Yeah, we should have.” “Or whatever,” she says. “You know how I am,” I say, “I honestly do like people, it just takes me forever to convince myself they like me.” “I know,” she says, “and I thought I was giving that process a proper push along when I started absolutely throwing myself at you.”

My impulse is to rattle off all the old excuses again. She knows what happened. She knows why I thought she was just playing, and she knows everything standing in the way of me testing those waters more deeply. There’s only one thing she doesn’t know, really.

“I’m a virgin,” I whisper, head still lying against her.

Kylie pulls me in even tighter. “I didn’t know,” she says, “but that makes sense. I was wondering why this seemed like such a big deal for you. You don’t have to be embarrassed about that, love.”

“It’s not some grand romantic thing where I was waiting for the right person,” I say, “I just haven’t been with many people and it never lasted very long, and I don’t want to say that I stopped trying once VR got as good as it is, but I’ve just…”

“You’ve been busy, and you’ve always been shy, and every other thing, and you don’t have to make excuses,” she says, “it’s fine. I’m glad you told me. And it’s still alright if you don’t want to do anything.”

I don’t know how to tell somebody I’ve never been alone with for more than a minute until tonight that I really do desperately want her to be the first woman I ever make love to, so I don’t.

I lift my head off her shoulder, and she turns to look. I put my hand on the back of her head and lean in to kiss her. She opens her mouth, and I do the same. Having a tongue touch mine for the first time in far too long makes me hard faster than it should.

Kylie breaks from my mouth to kiss my cheek, then down my jaw, then down my neck. She knows she needs to take the lead. I start to blush a little when she makes it down to my chest, passing over my relatively tiny breasts and planting a long, firm kiss on my nipple.

“You’re the one with tits,” I say, “I feel like you’re not the one who should be doing this, but It’s nice.” Kylie leans back, and now that I feel fully secure in my right to actually touch her body, seeing her breasts in front of me is a very different experience. I let out a gasp, having perhaps forgotten to breathe for a second. “Go ahead,” she says, glancing down, “you definitely seem to be enjoying yourself.”

I grab Kylie’s breasts with a ravenous force that probably conveys how much of a novelty it is for me to be touching a pair of breasts. I feel like a little boy playing doctor with his closest female friend for the last time just after she started growing boobs. Kylie’s face doesn’t read as anything but pleased, though. By touch, I can finally tell they’re not completely natural, despite their perfect shape and slight hang. I would kill for a set of implants that look like this. My hands suddenly aren’t enough.

I don’t bother with Kylie’s trail of kisses. I bring my face down to her bosom and start sucking her nipple. Kylie’s little peck was distinctly a kiss, and unabashedly erotic. The way I suck her is more like a baby feeding. I wrap my arms around her back, sinking into her as she holds me the same way. My cock is practically crying out for attention, but I could sincerely do this all day. I feel like part of her. When I accidentally apply a little too much pressure, she makes a noise that doesn’t quite sound pained. I want to ask if that was too hard, or if my teeth were digging into her, but I can’t bring myself to pull away. The second time my suction slips into overdrive, still unintentionally, the noise she makes is less ambiguous, and I start doing it harder deliberately and teasing her with little tongue flicks. Her breathing gets a bit heavy. I don’t need the encouragement, but I now have two reasons to keep this up as long as I can bear it.

“Lucy,” Kylie says after a few minutes, “I am very much enjoying this, but if you’re going to suck something, I need you to aim a bit lower, because I’m going absolutely mad right now.”

I pull away, and Kylie lies flat on the bed. “Sorry,” she says, “I’m just fucking busting, that was…very nice.” I plant my face between her legs and lap at her clit with almost as much burning need as I had for her stunning breasts. A loud moan jumps out of Kylie’s mouth the first time my tongue makes near-direct contact with her clitoris rather than just sweeping around the area. “Oh God,” she says, sounding a bit embarrassed, “be a little careful, I’m kind of a raw nerve after all that.” I put my open mouth over her and gently suck, not using my tongue yet. Her hips suddenly jerk, but as I continue she gets accustomed to it, and I apply a little more pressure. Once her shaking starts to subside, I start to poke my tongue around it, but not directly on it. Her clit is sticking out from under its home, which would be wonderful if I needed direct access but she seems to be on a hair trigger right now. It only takes a few minutes before she speaks up.

“Do it,” she moans, “just put it inside me.” “Umm,” I say, turning upward to look her in the eyes, “do you mind if I keep going?” “All the way?” she asks. “I’m just worried about, uhh, how this is going to go,” I say, “and I really want to get you off. It’s not going to be a problem if I do this first, is it?” “No, no,” she says, “I actually cum twice pretty easy. That’s fine.”

I shift a little so that, while I do my light suction on her clit, I can slide my hand in, working a finger, then two, inside her to probe for her most sensitive spots. I’m familiar in abstract with what I’m looking for, and where it is, but I’ve never done this by touch, and I only know what to feel for by descriptions I was never quite that good at picturing in my head. Judging by her reactions, I find the target or something just as good fairly quickly.

“Have,” Kylie gasps, trying to get a hold of herself, “have you done this bit before?” “Not in real life,” I say, “why?” “You just seem to…” she says, interrupted by a heavy groan, “you seem to know some things, yeah?” “Well I’ve practiced, sort of,” I say. Kylie laughs, and I can feel her laugh on my fingers as a gentle but noticeable squeeze. I hope I don’t say anything too amusing while I’m inside her, because that would have almost hurt. “God,” she says, continuing to chuckle a bit, “of course you’ve been fingering your VR ladies and going down on them. That’s you all over.”

Once she’s no longer distracted by the amusing antics of Lucy the Virgin, it doesn’t take long before Kylie gets close to the edge. The slight convulsions inward around my fingers are no longer laughter. Right as the moment is approaching, I press my fingers down a good bit harder and apply almost as much sucking force as I can manage.

Listen. I am absolutely reduced to a thick fluid when I hear Kylie speak. It unmakes me. Her accent is godly nectar fucking my brain through both ears. But what I was not prepared for was the sound coming out of her now. Kylie having an orgasm is the cosmic music of life even before I factor in how blissful it is to hear it knowing that I, against all odds, am causing it. This is the first moment I truly feel foolish for not making this happen sooner.

Once I know I’ve ridden the whole wave to its end, I finally pull my head away from her, and bask in the image of Kylie’s face just after I made her cum. “That seemed like hard work,” Kylie says, “but if you’re ready for this, I can’t wait any longer.” “Do you have condoms?” I ask. Kylie laughs. “Don’t bother,” she says, “I’ve been taking Ovox so long I’m pretty sure the last time I got my period was the first time I got my period. We’re fine.” Ovox is powerful stuff, and while it doesn’t seem to have long-term effects once you stop taking it, a lot of women are put off by the idea of completely nuking their menstrual cycle, but far more women are drawn to it by that very “side effect.”

I climb on top of Kylie, who looks so excited about this you’d think she’s the one approaching a milestone in her life. I gently let myself inside, and she feels like she was made for me. I know I’m projecting my preconceptions and idealized expectations onto this moment, but it’s truly beyond anything I’ve experienced. A pal is engineered to be the greatest possible sensation, and in truth, it probably is. If I were just focused on the physical, I might be disappointed after a lifetime of precision-engineered sex. This is not primarily a physical experience, though. This is all of me.

I’m quite tame at first, and Kylie smirks. “I know in your case this really is your first time,” she says, “but in my case, I don’t need the blushing virgin bride treatment. I’m sure your body really wants to just give it to me, and that’s what you should do.” “I just don’t want to…” I say. “Don’t worry about me,” she says, “that’s why you took care of that, right? Just let go.”

I take a couple breaths, and then I see the honesty in her eyes. I let go. I start with the rapid pounding my hips are screaming for me to give into, and while Kylie certainly starts to pant lightly, her eyes getting a bit heavy, I know it’s not anything like the impending Armageddon building behind my cock. I can’t handle much more of this. I start to slow down again, and I feel Kylie’s hand grab my ass so hard I let out a groan. “Gentle,” I say, “it’s my first time, right?” “Don’t slow down,” she says, “it’s actually really nice, and if you cum, just let it happen, I want you to enjoy this.” I slip back into high gear, and I see an expression spread across Kylie’s face that indicates she wasn’t lying about getting something out of my high-school-sophomore jackhammer thrusting. The only problem is that I only have about five seconds of jackrabbit left. “I’m going to,” I say. “Cum for me, baby,” she coos, “cum inside me.”

I’m unsure, amid the distraction of how it feels, what the noises I make sound like. Kylie’s smile bears the traces of a laugh, so I do hope I haven’t completely humiliated myself.

“Oh God,” I say, “you were just about to, weren’t you?” “It’s not my first time,” Kylie says, “it’s yours. Please don’t worry about me, at least not this time.” “But you were,” I groan, “I just couldn’t hold it.” “Hey,” she says, “hold that thought. Don’t pull it out yet.”

Kylie sticks her hand between her thighs and begins rubbing her own clit. “It’s still a little hard, leave it in,” she says. “I’m still really close.” “I want to feel you cum,” I say. “Could you…move a little?” she asks. I slowly thrust my gradually diminishing cock in shallow, slow motions, but she is doing most of the work herself. “Yeah,” she says amid lengthy silence, concentrating hard on what she’s doing. It feels a little impersonal, rendering me just a sad, deflating meat dildo, but it’s worth it for the moment she orgasms again, and I feel the firm but delicious grip of her pussy closing in around me, which might have been too much if I weren’t a little smaller and more pliable. She issues another chain of breathy cries in that warm Scottish purr, and I’m utterly hers again.

Once I’ve subsided entirely, I pull out, and lean in to kiss Kylie. “I think you need something a little less vanilla,” she says. “I feel like you have a kinky side somewhere in there, don’t you?” “What were you thinking?” I say, a little perplexed, since we’re both pretty wiped by now.

“You just made a big mess,” Kylie whispers in my ear, “and now you’re going to clean it up, you little slut. Suck your fucking load out of me.”

I don’t hesitate. I crawl down to Kylie’s crotch and tease her, giving her overworked clit one last lick and suck. “Oh shit,” she says, but in a way that conveys how overwhelming it is. “Sorry,” I say, “I couldn’t resist.” Avoiding direct contact with her poor, beaten little lady in the balcony above the stage, I apply my suction and tongue action to the entrance itself. Realistically, this is not an efficient system, but I appreciate the idea of it, and I do indeed manage to get some of myself back out of her. This is the first time I’ve had semen in my mouth, but that doesn’t dawn on me fully in the moment. I had a job to do, and I’ve done it.

“Come here,” she says. I bring my face to meet hers. “Open up,” she says, and she inspects my mouth. “Good job, slut,” she says. “Swallow it.” There’s not a whole lot there, so it goes down in one pretty easy gulp, though its taste and thickness remind me why swallowing is something a lot of people find a bit much. “Excellent,” she says. “Give me a little taste of you.” She pulls me in for a kiss that makes that first one feel like a peck from your aunt. Her tongue doesn’t just leave her mouth, but greet mine with open arms. Her hand pulls my head in close, her other grabs my ass again, but more gently this time. It feels less like a post-coital cooldown than a kiss she would give me to initiate foreplay, to plant the first little seed of arousal in me. I certainly know things about Kylie I did not know before, and one is that she does nothing halfway.

I fall into Kylie’s embrace like we’ve been doing this for decades, immediately comfortable in her arms. Even as we break our kiss, our faces stay so near they’re almost touching, my head falling against her shoulder once more and hers sitting lightly on my own. I feel her breath like a third hand caressing me. I feel closer to her than when I was inside her. For minutes that feel like the best year of my life, we don’t even speak.

“Did you check out my virtual body before you came here for the real thing?” she eventually asks. “I saw her,” I say, “and I did appreciate the gesture, but no, I haven’t…used her, yet. It felt a little weird, so I went with…” I quickly realize what I just implied, even though I didn’t actually say it.

“Who was the lucky algorithm?” she asks cheerfully. “Yesterday I bought a model of a porn star that was on sale at the publics,” I say a little bashfully, “and I took her for a spin again.” “You used a public fuck station?” Kylie asks. “I find that hard to believe. If I didn’t know better I’d say you wear bikini bottoms in the shower.” “My pal was out of the picture, if you’ll recall,” I say, “and I have a…ritual, I guess. Every day after work. It keeps me relatively sane.” “Who was it?” Kylie asks. “Kelly Rodriguez,” I say. “Oof,” Kylie says, “yeah, definitely. God, I’m glad you didn’t tell me that before, I would have felt a little inadequate.” “That’s ridiculous,” I say. “For one, you’re really here, which is an entirely different thing. But you’re also just as hot as she is.”

“I know that’s a lie,” Kylie says, “but the correct lie in this situation is ‘you’re hotter than she is,’ not ‘just as hot.’ For future reference.”

“Noted,” I say, “but it’s true. I would have used your model, but like I said, it just seemed kinda gross, even if I knew you were down for this.” “Plus,” she says, “if you knew I was ‘down for this,’ you could just come up and have the real thing. You made the right decision.”

“I did,” I say. “You’re hotter than your model, too.”

“Well, now that you’ve tried the genuine article,” Kylie says, “I want you to feel free to use my virtual colleague whenever I’m not around. I’d love to be a threesome partner for you and your favorite porn star.” “Evry said the same thing, actually,” I reply. “She thinks you’re hot.” “Evry?” Kylie asks. “I was calling her Kelly before,” I say, “but she told me to call her Evry, it’s short for the name of the neural net she’s an instance of.” “And you showed her my model?” she asks. “Yeah,” I say, “she told me that if you were being that blatant about wanting to fuck me I’d be stupid not to come up here and do it, and she was right.”

“So she knew who I was,” she says. “Yeah,” I say, “why?” Kylie laughs. “Of course you did,” she says, “of course you came home and told your virtual sex doll about the real-life girl you’d just gone on a date with. You are a properly strange one, and it’s great.”

“Yesterday, at the public station, we actually talked a bit,” I say. “Who?” Kylie asks. “Me and Kelly,” I say. “Me and Evry, I mean.” “About what?” she says. “We cuddled afterward,” reply, “and we talked about what I like, and what she likes, and what doing what she does is like for her, stuff like that. She’s actually very nice.” “I didn’t think they had much personality,” she says. “But, again, do I look surprised that you cuddled your sex doll and talked about her day?”

“She’s running right now, actually,” I say. “I left the sim running. I took her to a club from the content pack, and when I was about to leave, she said she was going to go off with this girl she saw there. They’re both digital, so for all I know, they’re still fucking. Why not? They can.”

“This is all truly extraordinary,” she says. “I was under the impression you didn’t already have a girlfriend.” “Oh come on,” I say, “it’s not exactly all that.” “Sweetie,” she says, “you took her on a date. You took her dancing. Although you also let her end the date by scampering off to fuck somebody else, so I guess that’s one tick in the other column.”

“We just went on a date,” I say, “and then we had sex, and I still don’t expect you not to pick somebody else up at a club tomorrow and fuck her too.” “I wasn’t going to mention that yet,” she says, “but yes, I do want you to understand we’re both free to do as we please. I always have, and you…well, you sort of need to, I think. You’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.”

“It’ll probably just be you and me for now,” I say, “at least on my end. I don’t mind if you have fun with whoever, but I’ve gone almost thirty years with basically nobody, so I think I can manage with just the sexiest woman in the world.” “You mean Kelly Rodriguez?” she laughs. “Yes,” I say, “just you and her.”

I wake up the next morning in Kylie’s arms.

I’m a little surprised my stick-laden ass didn’t manage to haul my empty balls back to my own apartment, but on the other hand, leaving Kylie Campbell’s bed sounds like a hellish task I’d never take on willingly. “What the fucking bloody what?” Kylie grumbles. She’s looking at my phone, the alarm from which is what just woke us up. “What fucking tech company needs you to come in so early that you have an alarm set for 6 AM? They’re in the arco, they’re not in another fucking state.”

“They don’t,” I say, a little puzzled. “I don’t need to be there for three hours, I just set that alarm so I can get some stuff done before work.”

“You…” Kylie barely mumbles, “choose…to wake up…at six? Oh my God, I fucked a psychopath.”

“It’s usually easy for me to get up this early,” I say, still a bit groggy myself, “because usually I go to bed a lot earlier than I did last night.” “Christ,” she says, putting her pillow over her head, “the only reason I even fell asleep when I did last night was you making me cum twice and spooning me like we were lost in the arctic.” I lift the pillow wall of her anti-morning fortress, and kiss her on the cheek. She turns toward me to invite a proper kiss, and I give her something much more affectionate.

“Go back to sleep,” I say. “I’ll see you soon. Last night was perfect.” The noise Kylie makes in response is sweet, but not words.

On the way back to my apartment, I swing by the same free counter I got the acceptably edible burger from and pick up something equally cheap and awful in most respects, but much more delicious, an almost transgressively greasy breakfast sandwich on a garlic and asiago bagel. I typically refrain from eating while I walk, but in the grip of whatever the sexual equivalent of a hangover is, this feels appropriate. I’m also basically alone. Even the food counter was on automated mode, a single worker present to man several booths that do almost all the work themselves. I do tend to wake up this early, but I usually spend the hours before I head to work in my apartment. I don’t walk these halls at 6 AM enough. With almost all the people gone, this building does actually sort of look like the future we were promised. It’s an impressive monster, if you strip away the grotesque capitalism and the saccharine patina they spread over it to hide it. These behemoths of commerce and indignity could have been something great. The arcology could have been a way to move humanity into a small enough area that nature could have its day again. Instead, we cleared all that space, then we just put more shit in it.

The place looks totally different before dawn. It looks the way it’s supposed to, it takes on that shiny, optimistic gleam they use to obscure the horror. When these halls are packed with the working class, all of us simultaneously disgruntled and complacent, we cover that covering. You can’t hide the truth from half a million people who can see it without looking any farther than their own homes.

Wrapped up in the chrome-plated amenities of the alleged future, I am briefly inspired to pull out my phone and open the contact for my job. I’m about to call in, suddenly filled with a desire to leave reality behind and do whatever the fuck I want today, when the halls start to fill up a bit more. Standing at the edge of a walkway that overlooks the lobby floors, I see people swarm the first floor like ants milling around the patch where you just overturned a rock. Reality has heard me trying to leave it behind and mounted me once again to continue fucking my tender ass. My fellow gorillas have joined me once more in our gilded cage. If I want solitude, I’ll have to make it myself.

It’s nearly 7 by the time I get to XLNce. Nobody else will be here until Vig gets here at 8:57, or as he will call it, 8:28. I have an odd affinity for being at the office before we open. Like being in the halls alone, it feels like I’m somewhere I’m not supposed to be, like the world has gone away and it’s all just for me.

I pull up the project we’re working on, an overhaul of the private transit app for another Delta arco in Birmingham, Alabama. That arco has a very demanding corporate sponsor that isn’t a Delta subsidiary, so they have ten tons of bespoke bullshit that has kept us very busy for no good reason, but fuck it, it pays. I always work with music when I’m the only one in this part of the office, so I put on the playlist Kylie linked me. Even apart from “Alive Again,” it’s pretty fucking solid. There’s a few other songs on here I also used to love, but haven’t listened to in forever. A bit distracted by the music, I put my project on hold for a second. I go into our tech closet and pull out a company laptop that’s about to be refurbished for use in some other Orange Grove sweatshop, which means nobody will ever know this happened.

I channel all my former hacker skills, most of which end up being superfluous, and break into the hostess’ console at Miss Georgia’s. The program they use to pipe in white noise elevator music is oddly robust, and I’m able to make it so that just before Kylie’s shift ends later, she gets a little present from me. The ringtone I use for my alarm clock will play, followed by a much more pleasant private joke, our favorite Burning Saints song. Even if they turn it off, she’ll know it was me, and I hope she gets a kick out of it.

I toss the laptop back in the pile, sit back down at my own computer, pull the endless wall of Frank’s shitty spaghetti code back up, and get ready to start actually working. A couple of the guys in sales file in, taking their seats at the other end of the office and just barely acknowledging my presence. Staring at a screen of work that, this morning, I could not care less about, I pull out my phone and open the notepad app.

 _Ivory Towers_ , I type in the title line. Beneath, I write some ideas down while they’re fresh.

_In the near future, a mysterious but alluring hacker terrorizes bland corporate arcology Ivory Towers, run by Exceed Technologies, the megacorporation that rules much of the world unquestioned. We follow Roberta Kelly, jaded middle manager turned revolutionary sympathizer, as she herself tries to track down the master hacker Lady-Macbeth, not to bring her to justice, but to join her in her cause, and possibly her bed…_

As I’m about to put my phone away, I see a mark on the icon for Orange Grove Social indicating an unread message. I recall swiping away some notifications last night, and I might not have paid terribly close attention to what they were. I open the app, and see a message from somebody named Grace Velez. I see her icon, but her face doesn’t look familiar. I quickly find out why.

_I was a little surprised when I saw your message request, and I was sure I wasn’t going to respond, but honestly, why not? I’ve been telling myself I was trying to meet new people, but I was about to turn up my nose at some cute girl sending me a message. Screw that. We all went there to do the same thing, LOL. Nothing to be ashamed of. So, hi, I’m Grace. We can chat on here, but if you want to meet me for lunch or something, I’d like that._

_By the way, I don’t know a way to say this that doesn’t feel a little rude, but I did see what station you were at, IYKWIM. That’s not a problem. Sorry if this is creepy to say._

_I’ve been single for a while and I think I’ve completely forgotten how to flirt, LOL. Sorry, I sound kind of crazy right now. I’ll shut up. Hit me up if you want to talk anyway. :)_

Yes, it was her. I didn’t recognize her face because I’d only seen her from her mouth to her hips, though I did get a pretty good look at the stuff in the middle, as well as a stimulating little preview of her orgasm face. It would, of course, happen exactly this way, spending almost thirty years virtually alone then suddenly having two women interested in me in two days.

Well, no. Three, actually. Three women.

_Trust me, you haven’t seen awkward until you’ve seen ME try to flirt with YOU, lol. I was just as surprised I sent that request as you were that you answered it. Lunch sounds great._

_I work on 21 and I live on 16. I have a two-hour working lunch from 12:30 to 2:30, and I usually eat lunch somewhere on 16 in case I want to work at home. If you want to meet somewhere nicer, though, I don’t blame you, lol. Orange Grove Deli on 22 is pretty good. Let me know what works!_

I send the messages and pull up Kylie’s contact.

_You’re not going to believe what just happened. :O_

A song comes on that I don’t think I’ve heard before, but I decide to look up more by the band after less than a minute. I’m starting to think my instincts are better than I’ve been giving them credit for, and I’m curious what I’m going to do next.


End file.
